


Marked As His - Newtmas

by axbee



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner, newtmas - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Newt is adorable, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Thomas is an Idiot, eventual protective!thomas, i added laws from wicked oof, it’s that writing one where whatever u write on ur skin comes up on ur soulmates, minhos sassy, neither is thomas tbh, newt has a tragic past, newtmas au, newtmas soulmate au, newts a sweetheart, newts kinda fragile, teresa is as well, theyre not taking shit from anyone, this isn’t as bad as it looks pls give mE a chance, thomas is adorable, thomas just wants his soulmate jesus christ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axbee/pseuds/axbee
Summary: soulmateˈsəʊlmeɪt'(n.) a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.-"They just drew a penis.""What?""My soulmate. They just drew a penis on their arm."-the soulmate au in which when you write on your skin the same mark appears on your soulmates ☘︎





	1. i.

5.05.18  
1:34pm  
monday.

 

Maybe for you, there's a choice.

  
Maybe for you, you get to pick who you want in life - who you want to spend the rest of it with, who you choose to love, to cherish, to promise and devote your entire existence to.

Maybe for you, it's easy.

Now, having markings on your skin that appear whenever your soulmate doodles on their own isn't necessarily terrible - it's just fucking _weird_.

Picture this: you're in the middle of AP biology, sitting at the back of the class, next to the most observant kid on the goddamn planet, and you feel something scratching at your wrist. Typically, because whoever this soulmate of yours is, is constantly drawing shit onto their arm, but that's not the point.

The point is, you're trying to pay attention, because the dumbass that your soul is intertwined with clearly isn't, and suddenly you look down and there's a penis drawn - _in permanent marker_ \- onto your wrist.

So, what's the solution? Thomas Edison doesn't know.

He stares blankly at his arm for a good ten seconds, before letting out a sigh, because for fucks sake, his soulmate has done it again.

"They just drew a penis."

"What?"

"My soulmate. They just drew a penis on their arm."

Next to him, his best friend, Minho covers his mouth in an attempt to hold back a laugh. He snorts loudly anyways, and Thomas gives him a nudge with his elbow, but he's grinning too.

"Who the fuck is this-" Minho sputters out, but cut off as their teacher, Miss Moore, is suddenly staring at them with a stony expression, her whiteboard marker frozen in her hand.

"Something funny, boys?" She questions, eyes narrowed. It's ironic, really, because this isn't the first time this has happened. In fact - whoever Thomas' soulmate is, tends to always doodle on their hand during his biology class. Albeit having no idea who they are or what they're doing, Thomas guesses that it must be pretty boring.

Minho opens his mouth to laugh out exactly why they can't contain themselves, when Thomas covers his mouth and raises his arm to show her and the rest of the class. "This, uh, my soulmate, they're drawing - stuff - and it's showing up on my arm, so.."

The class erupts into loud laughter, a happy vibe spreading around the room like a cheerful blanket, and Miss Moore places the cap back on her marker, shaking her head almost fondly.

"Well, maybe write back and tell them you're not interested," she quips, and the class loses it once more. They're familiar with the feeling, it happens to everyone. They know exactly what it's like.

Thomas grins with a shake of his head, before grabbing a red pen from Minho's pencil case and scribbling on his arm:

_stop drawing dicks please it's showing up on me_

Satisfied, Miss Moore continues to write out notes for the rest of the class. Minho's chuckles die down and he starts to copy them into his copy, but Thomas can't concentrate because another mark appears on his arm, and this time, it leaves him gaping.

 _my apologies. i like to doodle things i have_.

"It's a boy," he breathes out, and Minho's head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise.

"My soulmate, he's a boy."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI YALL IM HERE WITH A SOULMATE AU  
> i saw this on tumblr and yall i had to write it i had to do thiS-
> 
> anyways, this is basically an au (y'all already know but im just explaining) where if your soulmate draws something on their skin, it appears on yours as well.  
> i mean y'all could just write your numbers and names and genders and shit on ya arm and bam you find ur soulmate buT im gonna make it a little more interesting than that (hopefully sjsjsj)
> 
> i hope you enjoy as this was just a quick intro and the second chapter will be up soon!!
> 
> \- bee ☘︎


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little insight on the au and how it works :)

9.05.18  
3:34pm  
friday.

"I don't even know his name."

Teresa looks up from where she's highlighting her math notes. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, and a cup of hot coffee is perched on top of her textbooks.

Herself and Thomas are sitting in a quiet corner at the school library, trying to steal some study time together, but her best friend has been distant all day, and she's totally confused.

She tilts her head at him, who has a troubled look on his face. "Sorry?" She says, and he meets her gaze.

"What? Oh - sorry I was thinking, must have said shit out loud," he rubs at his eyes tiredly, and if the worry isn't clear on her face, it sure is when she speaks.

"Is this about your soulmate again?" She asks, gently. She drops her pink highlighter and places her hand on his arm, trying to be comforting. "Listen, Tom, it's okay if he's a boy-"

Thomas rolls his eyes and lets out a snort, playfully. "I don't care about that," he says, throwing his arms up. "I couldn't give two shits if they're a boy or girl - well, maybe I could but-"

"Then what's the problem? You've gotta wait it out Thomas. Everyone has a soulmate, but he rules are rules. You'll find him one day, eventually." Her voice is persisting, and somehow a little mom-like.

Thomas bites his lip in frustration. "Fuck the rules. I want to know his name, Teresa - who he is! I don't want to wait another year to find him - I want to do it now!"

Teresa actually laughs at him. "You're so impatient." She grins, fondly. "We all do, Tom. You have no idea how much we're all waiting, and it sucks that we have to but, you know the laws."

Thomas grumbles something along the lines of "those laws can suck my dick" and Teresa ignores him and continues to highlight math. Thomas hasn't even opened his textbooks, he's far too deep in thought.

Laws are, you can't make any sort of hint of identity towards your soulmate until your eighteenth birthday - even gender reveals.

However, the rules have been bent a little, and revealing your gender alone isn't as much of a crime as it used to be, so therefore, the majority of the population get away with knowing the sex of their soulmates - but anything other than that, and it's a jail time crime.

Thomas knows why, hell, every kid and teenager knows why, it's been drilled into their brains exactly why you _shouldn't_ , you _mustn't_ and you _can't_ reveal anything about yourself to your other half until you're of age.

Reasons are for safety precautions, of course - but Thomas is so eager to find out who his own soulmate is, it's a miracle he hasn't grabbed a pen and scribbled down his whole address on his arm already, for fucks sake.

Obviously, there's the occasional "why can't we just reveal ourselves? No one will even know" but the risks are too high, with the hand and body checks monthly and Thomas doesn't want to let his friends and family down, no thank you.

So instead, he stares at his palm, a soft smile on his face when he sees the fading reminders belonging to the boy he's destined to spend the rest of his life with.

_mums flowers. 12 o clock._

Thomas bites his lip. Mum. That's not very New Jersey like, is it? No, it sounds -

"I think he's British." He blurts out, suddenly, and Teresa meets his gaze again. Fuck. He's voiced his thoughts again.

"Why?" Is all she says, and Thomas grits his teeth, debating on telling her. Her tone is accusing, and her eyes have turned slightly sharp.

"I just - he wrote down this," he shows her his right hand, and she grabs it, analyzing it before tracing the words with her finger. "It's like - it's like whoever he is, he's subtly trying to tell me his identity."

"He's looking for loopholes," Teresa murmurs, staring at Thomas' palm with such intensity Thomas can practically feel her eyes burning the words away. "He's sneaky. That's all I know."

Thomas nods, pulling back his hand. "D-d'you think I could do the same?" He asks her, folding his arms. He's been thinking about this boy for the past couple of days, ever since he revealed his gender on Monday, and Minho fucking lost it and almost told the entire class.

Night after night, day after day. Who is he? Where is he from? What does he look like? Is he tall? Short? What colour eyes does he have? Hair? Pale? Dark?

"As in try to reveal yourself in a way that won't get you caught? Hate to break it to you, Tom, but if this kid keeps it up, you're both going to get into a lot of trouble." Teresa says, bluntly. She's not one for breaking rules, especially WCKD's rules.

"Right." Thomas agrees, clearing his throat. "Yeah, yeah I'd better get him to stop. He doesn't even know I'm a boy, after all."

She smiles at him, ducking her head once more, and Thomas is already planning ways to return the gender reveal, subtly, at least.

Shakily, he picks up his pen. It's been a few days, and the most he's gotten out of his soulmate are a few fucked up doodles that he spent hours laughing at every time he looked at his hand, and small little reminders, like _feed tabby at 5_ and _don't forget english sheet_ and the one today, _mums flowers. 12 o clock._

His heart races a little. If he's right, and his soulmate is British, it's around ten thirty, right? He should be in school. He mentioned an English sheet - school related, Thomas is guessing.

He knows more than that about him. He knows that his soulmate is left handed - the doodles appear on his right hand all the time. He knows that he goes on walks some mornings really early, and that he likes to draw lopsided tractors. But it's not enough, Thomas wants to know his name, his age, his hopes and dreams. He wants to know _him_.

He tries not to look like he's shitting himself as he carefully places the tip of his pen on the palm of his hand. He doesn't want to look suspicious, it's not a huge crime, after all. It's not like it hasn't been broken before.

Acting as normally as possible, Thomas writes the words that he's been afraid of doing for his entire life.

_hey just so you know i like drawing things i have too_

And right next to it, he doodles a tiny penis.

9.05.18  
10:41am  
friday.

Newt isn't one for getting in trouble.

Well, at least, he thinks he isn't.

He doesn't skip class, he tries his hardest in every subject (including the really shitty ones, like geography) he does exactly what he's told (most of the time) and he's a sweet and kind person, who helps people when he can.

And then you throw the whole soulmate thing into it.

Look, Newt is simply impatient, and a little snarky and sometimes hotheaded but he doesn't _mean_ to be. He's just curious, and he can't help twisting the rules a little bit. Besides, it won't kill anybody to throw a hint every now and then, would it?

He's been pushing it, lately. He's holding himself back from going too far - but how far is too far? His soulmate - whoever they are - already knows he's a male. He doesn't know if the small, indirect indications he's been giving are actually working - whoever his other half is could be as dim as a brick wall, for all he knows.

He's trying to be careful, but writing down things like _mum_ and _english sheet_ surely aren't going over the top? If his soulmate is smart enough surely they've figured out what he's playing at?

It's easy enough. He's made it as subtly clear as possible that he's a student from England, and male too. It would be barbaric if they couldn't tell - surely they're just as curious as he is.

Everyone has been, lately. As children, you're told not to ask questions. Simply leave little doodles around your hand - so that whoever your soulmate is, they know you're there, but by all means, _don't_ start a conversation, and by God do _not_ tell who you are.

It's been painfully strict, especially now that Newt is seventeen (well, almost seventeen, sixteen sounds too young, in his opinion) and he understands more, and the more he understands, the more curious he becomes. It's natural - everyone feels the same, but he wants to find out who they are, where they're from, what they're like. For christ's sake, he's sick of all the waiting.

He thinks the rules are dumb. Why wait to be eighteen years old to start a conversation with the person you're spending the rest of your life with? Why not talk about Peppa Pig and the best places to buy crayons and your favourite ice cream when you're five years old? Why not learn about each other's lives as you grow up together? What's the point in waiting until you're an adult until you can actually reveal who you are?

Newt thinks it's bloody ridiculous.

He's always said it, even when he was younger. He's always told his mum how it's fucking diabolical that they have to wait eighteen years - eighteen years of watching simple drawings or paint or useless words appear on your skin until you can finally utter out a simple sentence and finally find out who they are.

Like Newt says, merciless.

The drawing dicks thing on Monday had been the closest he got to showing himself - and it'd been funny, he won't lie. Writing to your soulmate wasn't exactly against the law - as long as you kept it extremely brief and blunt as possible. Drawing stupid shit on his hands as often as he can makes Newt, and hopefully his soulmate, laugh a lot.

When he got a reply on Monday telling him to stop - something clicked. It's not that they haven't spoken before ever, in fact, they have. Once or twice, they've said simple things, like  _hi_ or _that was a funny drawing_ or _I hope you enjoyed your walk._ The opportunity was there and Newt wasn't going to waste it, and so he told them. He fucking told his soulmate that he drew a dick on his hand because he has one.

And it made him laugh for a long ass time, even if they were muffled chokes in the middle of his history class. He amuses himself easily, and if drawing weird, creepy, spastic shite onto his arms and hands at eight o clock in the morning is the way to do it, then so be it.

In fact, Newt's considering doodling stuff now. He's in his business studies class and he wants to choke to death out of boredom. His best mate, Alby, is almost asleep beside him, his eyelids drooping with his head resting on his hand.

School is such a bore, with the occasional soulmate assembly talks and 'safety precautions' and hand and body checks every now and then, along with typical school stuff has Newt exhausted all the bloody time - his curiosity is really the only thing keeping him going, to put it gently.

He feels an itch on his palm, and it excites him a lot more than it probably should. Placing his hand under the table, he quickly checks to make sure Mr. Dolan isn't looking, before smiling to himself as he watches the words being etched softly into his skin.

_hey just so you know i like drawing things i have too_

And then a fucking dick right beside the words.

Newt laughs a lot harder than he probably should, but he doesn't care all that much. Alby cracks open one eye from where he's half asleep, suspiciously, but Newt is cackling loudly in his seat and doesn't notice.

He doesn't know why he's so hysterical - they could both get into complete shit if they're caught, despite the crime being slightly petty and unbothering most of the time, but he can't stop laughing at the fact that not only has his soulmate finally returned the shitty drawings, but he's given himself away.

"What a bloody idiot," Newt wheezes out, wiping a few tears from his eyes. He's shouted at to be quiet from Mr Dolan, and he nods and tries to calm himself down. The second the attention isn't on him anymore, he turns to Alby, the biggest grin on his face.

It's weird, but he feels triumphant, victorious. Like he's won a game neither of them knew they were playing.

"He's a boy," Newt tells Alby in a hushed tone, grinning ear to ear. "My soulmate is a fucking boy."

Alby's eyes widen and suddenly he's not so tired anymore. He lifts his head up off his elbows in a whiplash and his mouth falls open in shock. "No fucking way," he hisses back, leaning their heads close together. "Is that - _shit_ , Newt, is that even allowed?"

"What do you mean is it allowed? Of course you can have a boy soulmate if you're also a boy you-"

"Not gay soulmates dumbass," Alby rolls his eyes, flicking Newts ear. "I meant asking. Isn't that one of the laws?"

Swallowing, Newt finally sighs defeatedly. "Yeah, kinda," he murmurs, running his thumb across his palm. "I - yeah. It's not a major one - people have gotten away with it before - but I can't be too sure. I'll probably have to be more cautious, from now on."

Alby shakes his head, eyes large and worried. "I don't want you to get hurt, Newt," he says, poking Newt's shoulder softly. "Just, be careful man, yeah?"

Newt nods, a little glumly, and Alby takes the opportunity to crack a grin and grab Newt's wrist, waving it while quietly exclaiming "Tell me everything you know!"

Newt's cloudy mood vanishes, and the smile returns to his face in a flash. "Yeah! Yeah alright he, he uh - I mean, I've hinted where I'm from and all, but all I really know about him is that he loves some drink called Gatorade, he hates chemistry, he's right handed, too, but everyone knows that kinda shit about their soulmates. He writes down shit like _buy more gatorade_ all the time. We write down reminders for ourselves all the time - but you know the rules, they have to be brief - but one time he wrote down _get Teresa chocolate_ and I asked him if she liked them. He said yeah, and we didn't speak for ages, not til now."

Alby's eyes are even wider than before, like saucers, by the time Newt's finished. He glances down at his own palm, that has watch OMB on it, and he smiles sheepishly. "Me and them kinda do that too," he admits, shrugging with a tiny smile. "We give each other movies or TV series' to watch, but other than that, not much."

Newt nods, understandingly. "I think it's stupid how we've to wait until we're eighteen flipping years old - how wicked is that?" He throws in the reference, and Alby gives a soft smile, shaking his head.

"One more year, man," He says, giving him a small smile. "Well, two for you." He winks at Newt, who grumbles to himself with his signature frown.

"Don't remind me," he mutters, blowing lightly upwards. Strands of his blonde hair fall floppily over his eyes, and he shakes his head sideways before just running his hand through his hair, shaking his head as the shaggy mess forms a new nest. His fluffy hair is another reminder for his youthful appearance, and he wants to kick himself for being so young.

He's only a year behind - but a _whole_ year is so long, and he's forever pissed off that his mum didn't just hold him back - it'd be so much easier. Sixteen isn't much off, but not only that, he looks younger - he looks twelve, for fucks sake. His brown doe eyes are large and endearing, with that child-like curiosity. He has a snub button nose that grannies poke and pinch, and a sharp jaw that makes his face seem smaller.

Not only face wise, but body wise, Newts appearance makes him look younger, again. He's shorter than everyone he knows and ridiculously slender. He has that skinny frame that makes him the baby of the group and he fucking hates it.

Sighing in exasperation, Newt scribbles random circles into the back of some paper. They're supposed to be writing out the final draft of their essays - but Newt scribbles shapes onto it instead. It sucks that he has to wait two whole years until he can find out his soulmate. Two bloody lawful years -

"Alby," Newt gasps, suddenly, snapping his head up with a cheeky expression. "Holy shit - I've got an idea."

Alby's face morphs into one of fear. "It can't be good, that's your 'I-have-an-idea-but-it's-a-really-bad-idea' face." He says, tightening his jaw. Newt doesn't care, he's writing furiously onto the sheet, and Alby is trying to follow his friends hand.

"I'm going to find him," Newt tells him, and Alby's stomach does somersaults. "That's illegal Newt -" He starts, but Newt cuts him off, eyes shining with passion. "It's illegal if you get _caught_ , Alby, and trust me, I'm not going to get caught."

With a wobbly hand and a shaky grin, Newt takes a deep breath, picking up his pen. Alby reaches to stop him - but he yanks his arm away before can.

"Baby steps," he says, calmly, nodding at Alby. "It's okay, I know what I'm doing."

Carefully, he etches a riddle onto his palm, and Alby watches with a gut-twisting fear that leaves him twitching in anticipation. Newt smirks evilly to himself, and Alby wonders (not for the first time) how he's so devilish.

_january 4, 1643  
last word, 4 letters_

Alby raises a brow. "Buddy, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Newt cackles in his seat, feeling triumphant once more. The game is his now - and if his soulmate is playing or not, he's winning.

"You'll see, Alby," he says, a look of pure satisfaction on his youthful face.

"You'll see."

9.05.18  
4:01pm  
friday.

Thomas is on his way home from school, when he feels a familiar yet slightly agonizing itch on his hand, which is stuffed into his hoodie. He feels a smile appear on his face - he feels daring, dangerous. It's kind of dumb really, but he feels brave. Him and his soulmate - they've revealed gender identity. They're fucking badasses.

He finds himself grinning before he gets the chance to see the message. There's a slight knot of fear that tightens in his belly when he thinks about getting caught - but he pushes it away and pulls his hand out of his pocket, stretching out his palm and squinting in confusion.

_january 4, 1643  
last word, 4 letters_

The _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?

Thomas actually walks blindly into a street lamp, thumping his head hard onto it before stumbling backwards and falling roughly on his ass. It'd be embarrassing, but his head is too jumbled up to think about it.

Instead, he keeps his gaze focused on his hand. Usually, he'd let words and sentences taken out of context slip by, but now he's more alert, aware. They can't be small reminders anymore, his soulmate must be hinting something. Again.

 _He's a cheeky one_ , Thomas muses, in his head. He pulls himself to his feet, dusts himself down, and continues his journey home. For once, he's thankful Minho has detention today. He needs time to think, but at the same time, it'd be helpful to have his best friend around.

What is his anonymous lover trying to tell him? Surely it won't be as obvious just to ask - actually, scratch that. There's a hand check next week, and Thomas doesn't have 'go to jail' on his bucket list.

He bites his lip. There must have been people who revealed themselves before they were eighteen before - but without getting caught. There's no way WICKED managed to imprison everyone who broke the rules,he just has to find a way to get past the hand check. Then the body check. Fuck.

I don't want him to get into trouble. Thomas frowns, glancing down at his hand once more. He's outside his home now - a large, brown-bricked house, and although minimalistic, it has a spatial garden with orchids and roses, a patio with wooden deck chairs and tables that are silvered by the sun, high arched windows that capture daylight like a sunshine magnet, and a manicured lawn that is weed free and greener than a fresh horse.

As he unlocks his front door, he faintly recalls his soulmate writing something like _get garden plants_ a few months ago. Another subtle, and maybe unintentional, hint. How long has he been doing that? Thomas has no idea.

He's still in deep thought when he walks through his front door, using his feet to take off his shoes from the heels, before kicking them lightly to the side and walking in his socks towards the kitchen. His parents are at work - thank God - so he has the house to himself.

He starts to prep himself a sandwich, grabbing cheese, butter, chicken and ham, tomatoes - anything really, from the fridge and cupboards and throwing them onto the countertop. He's spreading butter across one side of the white bread, when something clicks.

It's a date. January 4th. So what date? What kind of date? How is he supposed to find out what it is? An anniversary? A-

A birthday.

It hits him so fast that he throws on the rest of the supplements for his sandwich, before throwing the mess he calls his lunch into toaster, throwing his head back against the top oven door once he's finished.

It's a fucking birthday. His soulmates? Really? Is that even part of the law?

 _Of course it is._ Thomas grumbles, grabbing soda from the mini fridge with a sour look on his face. Everything is a fucking law.

Why would he give him his Birthday? Is it bad? Maybe it's another clue?

"Fucking hell," Thomas groans, throwing his head back and whacking the back of it lightly against the oven handle. "How the hell am I supposed to figure this out?"

It's not until he's scoffing down the remainders of his sandwich, chugging the glass of water, when he chokes on it. The 1643 he ignored earlier suddenly makes sense. Those can't be random numbers, they have to be something to do with the date.

Maybe it's not his birthday, but someone else's.

Thomas almost falls off his chair when he stumbles to run a mile through his house, frantically looking for his laptop. His phone is plugged in on charge in the kitchen, but it’s dead, and he's not bothered to just _wait_.

He spits the familiar grey mac on the sofa in his living room, and he leaps over to it, grabbing it and flipping it open, exasperated. His eyes are wide and he's typing frantically, and he stops for a moment to give himself a second to relax. Calm the fuck down, Thomas. Jesus.

He types the date in, and he bites his lip in anticipation waiting for the results to come up.  
When they do, he stares blankly at the screen, confused as hell.

" **SIR ISAAC NEWTON IS BORN – JANUARY 4, 1643.** Sir Isaac Newton (NS: 4 January 1643 – 31 March 1727) was an English physicist, mathematician, astronomer, natural philosopher, alchemist, and theologian, who has been "considered by many to be the greatest and most influential scientist who ever lived."

What the fuck?

Thomas would laugh, but he's so unbelievably confused he just stares, not knowing what to do. He stares at his hand again, and his eyes fall on the last word, fourth letter.

Last word, fourth letter. What the hell does that even mean?

Last word. Thomas stares at his laptop screen again. Sir Isaac Newton. He knows him, hell, everyone knows him. One of - if not _the_ greatest scientist to ever exist. But he doesn't get it. Why is his soulmate getting him to search this? Maybe he's not. Maybe it's another reminder.

 _I’m too dumb for this shit_.Thomas stares hard, a deep frown forced on his features. His dark eyes squint at his laptop, and he tucks one leg under him on the sofa, peering cautiously at the screen. Last word. What's the last word?

Sir Issac Newton. Newton. Is that what his soulmate means? Or does he mean lived? What?

He wants to write back, and ask him what in the _fuck_ he means, but he doesn't want to risk it. It's difficult for a reason. If his soulmate is trying to tell him something, it's not supposed to be an easy code to crack.

So, instead, he focuses on the last clue. Last word, four letters. The last word has to be Newton. That's the guy he's searching, right?

Newton. Last word, four letters. Four letters. What's four letters?

 _If this is the guys way of telling me he's some kind of genius I swear to God._ Thomas thinks, eyes still squinted harshly at the laptop screen. Four letters. Four letters to what? The last word?

Newton. Newt. Newton is shortened to Newt. Those are the four letters.

Newt. What the fuck?

What's a newt? It's some kind of lizard, right? No, it's like a salamander - but what has that got to do with clues?

Surely if his soulmate wanted to give him the name of a fucking insect he would have just said so right?

Then, suddenly, like roadkill, it hits him out of nowhere, and he slams his laptop down, palm over his mouth, eyes wide and gaping in utter shock.

Because it's not the name of an insect.

_It's his name._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof here's the second chapter it's long and i hope it's not boring lmfao rip
> 
> so here's an insight to the au, and the rules i've added (wicked is going to be a department based on soulmates if ya haven't guessed already, and they'll be a Big part of this)  
> also, an intro to newt ayeee  
> also, newts younger than thomas in this (i love smol bby newt oOps) and he's shorter as well, but he's still cheeky and daring, just a little more naive and innocent.  
> anyways, to those still actually reading this lmAo the next chapt will have like a proper intro to wicked and the hand and body checks and stuff so y'all really know how this au works :)
> 
> i’ll see u next time!! <3
> 
> \- bee


	3. iii.

11.05.18  
9:03am  
sunday.

Thomas is freaking out.

The hand and body checks are _tomorrow_ and he is so _fucked_.

He's texted Teresa and Minho about eighteen times and googled "how to avoid getting caught in soulmate body checks" and nothing came up. Isn't Google supposed to have the answer to everything?

He's sitting on his bed, continuously banging _the encyclopedia book of souls_ against his face repeatedly. He's so screwed he may as well just accept his fate. This is it. This is what his life has succumbed to.

He's going to get caught and never meet his soulmate and never graduate and never go to college and go to jail and -

"Thomas? Teresa and Minho are here!"

Thomas hears his mom calling up the stairs to him, along with a few inaudible words from other voices and he almost pulls his hair out in frustration.

Are you serious?

"Yeah, coming mom!" He calls back, throwing the book across the room and hoping that they can all hear the sound of it crashing into his telescope. He's pissed off, to say the least, but he bounds down the stairs like nothing is wrong, and only plasters a glare on his face once his mom leaves the hallway.

"The hell took you two assholes this long? I swear - I'm going to go to jail tomorrow and you don't even _care_ -"

Minho rolls his eyes, holding up a hand. "Dude, relax. You're not going to jail will you just - will you just calm down oh my god-"

Thomas is leaning against the bannister, arm thrown over his forehead. It's kind of amusing, how he's drawling on about how "my life is _ruined_ " and "I knew I wasn't brave enough for this _shit_ " and "This may be the last time I get to have a meltdown on my stairs."

It's Teresa's turn to roll her eyes now. "You're so dramatic," she sighs, and Thomas can't believe how calm they're being, his life is over and neither of them care - he's never felt more betrayed.

"You both suck," he mutters, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. Teresa honestly won't even be surprised if he stomps his feet at this point. Thomas sticks his tongue out at them. "You're both traitors."

Minho actually laughs, and Thomas gapes at them. "For real? You guys won't take me seriously?"

Minho shakes his head, smiling. "No, dumbass," he says, bumping his shoulder with Thomas, who looks more confused than ever. Minho and Teresa share a knowing look - and grin. Minho's eyes light up, an evil smile on his face. "We've got a plan."

Thomas almost falls over in relief.

"Great, tell me now! All of it! I need it right now you guys we don't have any time to spare - oh man I am so _fucked_ -"

Teresa clamps a hand over his mouth, fed up. "Quit the rambling," she warns, once again with that mother tone that makes Thomas gulp. "I mean it. We've got this sorted, chill out."

He nods against her hand, and she drops it, wiping it against her top (irrelevant, but she smirks at him). Minho gently pushes the both of them towards the stairs, guiding them back up to Thomas' room.

Once the door is shut fully and the three of them have found comfortable places to situate themselves in his room, Thomas gets talking again.

"What's the plan?"

Teresa nods towards Minho, who makes a big show of taking his time, sinking into Thomas' black desk chair with a relaxed sigh, closing his eyes. He's doing it on purpose, Thomas is practically kicking himself waiting in anticipation. "For god's sake Minho, just tell me!"

Minho cracks an eye open, smirking devilishly. "If you say so," he yawns, devastatingly slow. He stretches then, throwing his arms behind his head and tightening his leg muscles. Thomas wants to scream.

Teresa holds back a laugh, and Minho eventually gives up the act, shrugging with a sheepish smile. He drops his arms back onto his lap and swivels the chair towards Thomas.

"Right, this is what we're gonna do," he starts off, dramatically. His eyes are dark and mysterious, and Thomas finds himself leaning in closer eagerly.

"There's this guy who owns an underground 'super secret soulmate supply store' in Wildwood, y'know, in the coast." Minho starts the explanation and Thomas gawks at him. Super secret soulmate supply store? Jesus _fuck_.  
"That's a lot of s's." He says, and Minho waves him off. "Not the point-"

"Wildwood? The resort city? How the hell do you plan on getting us there?" Thomas cuts in, but Minho ignores him.

"I've got that sorted, too," he smirks instead, drumming his fingers against his thighs. "I'll drive half the way, then this sightseer tram car runs along the boardwalk, and along there we get off at this seafood restaurant - _schellenger's_ I think - and from there we can go through the restaurant and down this back alley, there's a open gutter that brings us to a tunnel - and capiche! We've found the super secret soulmate supply store."

"Can't be so 'super secret' if you know where it is," Thomas grunts, because in all honesty he really doesn't want to travel for so long and so damn far - but he also doesn't want to go to jail, so he'll have to compromise. "Seriously, how do you know this place?"

"Minho knows a guy who works there. It really is a hidden store from WCKD, but they'll get caught at some point. Eventually." Teresa butts in, and Thomas kind of wants to throttle her for a second. She's sometimes so _unbearably_ negative about breaking WCKD's rules, and a Thomas bites his tongue in order not to snap at her.

She's only being smart, right? Living by the law?

"Hey, quit thinking. Let's get rolling, we don't have all day!" Minho reminds them, excitement evident in his tone. His eyes practically twinkle with a cheeky grin to match. He grabs them both, and Thomas and Teresa share a quick glance before breaking into smiles.

"Race ya!" Teresa jumps up suddenly, and Minho and Thomas fall over themselves as they chase after her, Thomas calling out a quick "bye mom!" whilst tugging on his hoodie as fast as he can, running blindly.

They tumble down the stairs after each other, after racing out of Thomas' room, because Minho is right - they don't have all day. They stumble out to the car, panting and out of breath, cheeks flushed and bright eyes. Thomas can practically feel the relief pooling in his stomach - they'll be fine. It's going to be fine.

  
11.05.18  
10:14am  
sunday.

It's been an hour and things are definitely not fine.

Minho is driving (who let him behind the wheel?) Teresa keeps bickering that he's taking the wrong turns, the car GPO almost led them right off a bridge, and Thomas keeps twitching in his seat because his soulmate is drawing on his own stomach and fuck it _tickles_.

It's ridiculous - he doesn't even want to lift up his t-shirt to discover what shit his soulmate has drawn now -

No. _Newt_. What _Newt_ has drawn now.

Thomas smiles, biting his lip. _Newt_.

"I didn't tell you guys something," Thomas blurts out, because the awkward silent tension is getting on his nerves, and Minho keeps glaring at everyone and everything. Besides, he's on his way to try cover up everything he's said to his soulmate - what's the point in hiding his name?

"He - well, uh, he told me his name."

Teresa doesn't even say anything - her expression says it all. Eyes wide in shock, eyebrows raised in a _really_? kind of way, and then she facepalms, because she's starting to feel like she's the only sane one around here and she doesn't even bother going over the risks again.

Minho fucking _stops the car_ to turn to Thomas, who swears loudly at the break, his seatbelt the only thing that literally kept him alive. "Dude what the hell?" Thomas gives him a dirty look, but Minho slaps the back of his head lightly, before raising his arms over his head. "Well? What are you waiting for, Shank? What is it?"

Thomas bites his lip. He's told them everything about him now, surely it's not so bad to keep one thing a little secret for himself? And, what are the odds that Minho and Teresa accidentally spill something? They're the most trustworthy people Thomas knows - but for some reason, he feels antsy.

"You cannot tell _anyone_ , you hear?" Thomas warns, voice low in a hushed tone. He leans forwards and keeps his head down, and Teresa leans forward from the backseat to listen in. Minho nods furiously, and Thomas rolls his eyes.

"It's Newt," he says, sitting back in his seat, facing the window. "Yeah, his name - it's Newt."

There's a short moment of silence before Minho snorts loudly, spluttering out large belts of laughter that he immediately tries to cover with his hand. Teresa doesn't laugh, but she purses her lips together to fight back a smile. Thomas groans.

" _Newt_? - man, what kind of name is _that_?" Minho cries out, shoulders shaking slightly. He calms down after a moment, to be met with raised eyebrows from both Thomas and Teresa, and he smiles sheepishly.

"I think it's cute." Teresa says, surprisingly. She shrugs when Thomas gives her a look, leaning back in her seat as well. "It's unusual. Probably short for something, Newton, right?"

"Yeah, actually, I think," Thomas admits, chewing on his bottom lip. "That's how he told me - he got me to google the date of a birthday, which turned out to be Isaac Newton's, and the last word and four letters - some weird riddle like that. I'm not entirely sure if it's short for Newton, or his name is actually just ... Newt."

Minho covers his mouth again, and Thomas gives him a quick kick to his side, grinning.

"It's cute!" Teresa argues, flicking Minho's ear, who winces at both the attacks, calming himself down. "Sorry sorry, it's not that funny, but man. I cant believe you've gone that far - no offense, but I didn't even think you had the balls." Minho says, starting the car again.

"Me either," Teresa agrees, folding her legs over the cup rest between Thomas and Minho's seats. "Obviously Newt himself is pretty rebellious - he's totally leading you into this mess - but at least there might be a way to disguise that, right?"

Thomas hums in reply, a little wary of her comment. "You don't seem to like Newt all that much," he says, bluntly. Minho pierces his lips, looking at Teresa through the mirror. The tension builds up a little again, and Thomas hates how they keep getting into weird awkward moments.

"It's not that I _dislike_ him," Teresa replies, folding her arms. She nudges Thomas' arm with her foot. "We don't know him, Tom. I'm just trying to look out for you. I don't want you to get in trouble because he's leading you into breaking the freaking law - he just needs to step it down a bit."

Thomas nods, and Minho takes the chance to jump in. "I think he sounds cool. Just a bit - like Teresa said - rebellious. He seems like the fiery type. Maybe a bit fierce. Y'know, the rule-breaker kinda guy. He could be like _the_ stereotypical bad boy, really buff and a _load_ of tattoos, he probably rides a motorbike-"

Thomas, to his surprise, cuts Minho off with a laugh. He has no idea what Newt looks like, but he sure as hell hopes it's not what Minho is implying. "Don't be ridiculous," he grins, and he hears Teresa giggling. "He could be a curly ginger for all we know."

Then they all break into laughter, and Thomas' spirits are lifted again. As they near a roundabout, he subconsciously lifts up his t-shirt, examining the odd looking, animal _thing_ that's now present on his stomach.

It's got like, seven eyes and legs coming out of its head, with a cheshire cat grin. It has, _boobs_ coming out of its stomach as well. It's messy and looks like it's been drawn without much effort, but Newt drew it, and that makes it acceptable.

Thomas laughs the second he sees it, and turns to show Minho, who almost swerves the car off the road when he breaks into hysteria.

"What the fuck is that?" Teresa chokes on a laugh when Thomas shows her. "No idea, this is the shit he draws on himself all the time." Honestly, being soulmates with someone with an imagination as weird as Newts _sucked_. Try doing finals with someone constantly drawing weird shit onto their skin. Exactly - not easy.

They settle and calm down once Minho is driving on a straight road again, and Thomas rolls down his shirt, a happy smile tugging at his lips. It doesn't matter what kind of situation he's in - Newt somehow always makes it better, without even _trying_ , for christ's sake.

Resting his head against the window, Thomas places a hand under his shirt on his stomach, tracing the drawing with his finger. It's sappy and weird yes, but he grins down anyways. Fuck the laws. Newt makes him happy, and _fuck_ , he can't wait to meet him one day.

 _One day_ , he thinks, with a small sigh. _One day._

  
11.05.18  
5.15am  
sunday.

Newt can't sleep.

He's been trying for _hours_ , but every time he closes his eyes it's like his brain won't turn off, instead, it turns on even _higher_. It's like a screaming in his head, and it starts to ache after a while, plaguing his skull with thumps that makes him shout into his pillow.

He rolls over on his back, rubbing his eyes, exhausted. There's no reason in particular why he can't sleep, even though there probably should be. He's really in for it now - giving his name, gender. What next? His age?

He's fucked up, sure, but he can't find it in himself to care. He's not even sure if that's his rebellious side speaking, or his depressed one.  
He doesn't bother trying to make it out, instead he yawns, pulling at his hair, tiredly.

It's sad, really. He knows that breaking WCKD's laws is bad, really bad, but with a pounding headache that cracks his skull, eyes that are fighting to stay awake and a brain that's buzzing constantly, Newt can't even focus on how bad he's screwed up, how bad he _is_ screwing up.

His eyes are starting to sting, and a part of him wants to cry. He's been crying a lot lately, during long nights with thoughts that hurt and reminders that make him want to throw up. It's night time that makes him most vulnerable, when he really can't stand being in his own skin.

He picks at his arm, scratching his skin with his nails. He doesn't even realise he's crying until he feels the hot tears drip down his chin, and he doesn't have the energy to wipe them away furiously. He just lays there, tired and miserable.

His hands are wrapped around his blanket. It's a small, red and blue blankie that he's had since birth, and he brings it to his nose, sniffing it. It smells like tobacco, and he cries harder.

Everything suddenly smells like tobacco, smoke, things he doesn't like, and he rips off his duvet, almost choking on the endless tears streaming down his cheeks. He stumbles onto the floor, pulling his pillow onto his chest for some sort of security. Eyes shut tight, he fumbles around until he can turn on his lamp.

The floor isn't comfortable, but he lays there limply instead, staring at the small marks in the ceiling. The window isn't open, and everything is too stuffy, too _hot_ , but he doesn't bother moving. He hugs the pillow tighter, trembling a little despite the heat.

He has no idea what brought this on, but his legs feel like jello, his body is limp, his mind is screaming and his eyes are stingy and sore and his nose is runny and he just wants it all to go _away_.

He looks over to the clock, and watches the time change from **5:15** to **5:16**.

Another sleepless night. Another helpless night. Another night plagued by nightmares. Another night that leaves him itching his skin, wanting to rip away the memories. Another night of hot wet cheeks and limp legs and lifeless eyes that beg for sleep.

Newt sees a pen that's fallen off his desk on the corner, and he reaches out tiredly, barely grasping it before placing it on his lap. He's so exhausted, so so tired, and he grunts to himself, tears and snot drying as he tries to sit up.

His eyelashes stick together painfully and his face feels soggy and like sandpaper at the same time. He feels drained and empty and the wooden floor is cold against his damp, sweaty back.

Groggily, he grabs the pen and lifts up his overnight t-shirt that's about four sizes too big for him and reaches his knees, and tries to draw something - anything. He needs to feel something he can't feel anything he can't focus or function and his eyes are blurry and bloodshot -

So he doodles something he can't even distinguish himself. It's messy and sloppy and looks like a toddlers crayon masterpiece, but he feels the pen and it's okay. He's back into reality, lying on the floor in a messy, lifeless heap.

He slaps his legs to try regain some sort of energy, and somehow manages to roll over into his hip, banging his head lightly into the side of his bed, before shakily climbing back into it. His legs feel numb and so does his heart, but he felt the pen and it's okay. He's okay.

With uneven breaths, eyes that bulge with exhaustion and arms that flop weakly against the bedsheets, Newt tries to escape into night time fantasy where everything is okay.

He falls asleep at 5:46am.

  
11.05.18  
11:32am  
sunday.

"Almost there, guys."

Thomas opens his eyes, not even aware that he had closed them. It's been bright for hours, so he has no idea how he managed to sneak in a nap, but he rubs his eyes and stretches anyways, taking in the new surroundings outside the window.

Minho's driving through a meadow, eden-green fields on either sides of the brown dusty road, and with the windows rolled down slightly, he can hear the nature's orchestra, chirping grasshoppers, whirring dragonflies. It's beautiful, really.

The sky is a shrine of crystal-blue, without a single cloud in sight. There's distinctive, exotic flowers blooming brightly, with a range of vibrant colours - lavenders, violets, pinks, reds, oranges, yellows. It's blinding, and Thomas squints at the intense vividness of it all.

The mountains are soaring above them in the distance, sharp as shark teeth, punching the sky. There's a fresh fragrant mixed with a faint pollen rich smell, and Thomas literally feels like he's stepped into a storybook.

"The fuck are we? Oz?" Teresa pipes up, and Minho chuckles. Thomas simply stares, because he's never seen a place this beautiful before. Honestly - he hasn't.

"Nah, we're a twenty minute drive from the boardwalk, but I'm taking a shortcut through this place. Pretty, innit?" Minho replies, slowing down the engine so that they can take a better look.

"We don't have all day, get a move on!" Teresa kicks the back of Minho's seat, but Thomas pays them no attention. He's itching in curiosity, he wants to get to the boardwalk, and fast. It's not even noon yet, but he has no idea what to expect.

"You've been here before?" Thomas asks, suddenly. Minho seems like he knows exactly what he's doing, and for some reason, it gives Thomas a weird vibe. "As in, from personal experience? Have you been to this secret soulmate store - whatever the fuck it's called - before?"

Minho gives him a side glance. "Maybe," he answers, and Teresa's eyes widen in surprise. "But I'm not getting into it. I'll tell you another time."

Thomas doesn't bother to continue asking, because when Minho makes up his mind, there's no changing it. Instead, him and Teresa look at each other with a yikes kind of expression, and sit back and wait for Minho to bring them to their destination.

Like, fifteen minutes later, Thomas is surprised when Minho pulls over and parks the car, on an old road that has no other car in sight.

"What're you doing?"

"We're walking from here," Minho explains, unbuckling his seatbelt and throwing himself out of the car. "Hurry up, I want food after this. I swear, they better have supplies or I'm going to riot-"

"Yeah yeah, we get it, you're hungry. Now shut up and lead us, captain." Teresa says, pushing him along after she got out of the car. Thomas takes another second before unbuckling his belt too, and quickly following them down the road.

They're not in the meadow anymore, but they've come to a small little village that resembles something out of a fantasy. "I really feel like I'm in some sort of kids Disney movie." Thomas says, after a moment of walking. There's a dense fog gathering around them, but it's still fairly warm, and Thomas peers at the maze of ancient buildings before him.

"It's abandoned." Minho clears things right up, and Thomas continues following his lead. Teresa shows a bit more curiosity, and heads off a little further from them to explore.

Once they get closer, Thomas realises how ghostly this place is. The windows of most small buildings are shattered, probably due to poor structure and rotten boards. The roofs are thatched, and the doors are hanging on by the few threads of the hinges. The ground is cobbled, with no real difference between a pavement and the road.

"We have to go through here to get to the boardwalk," Minho explains again, while Teresa examines an old, broken house that looks like wind could cause it to collapse.

"This place hasn't been done up in years. Not a single person lives here. It's crazy, you can't see it from the boardwalk. It's crazy how modern it is over there than compared to here," Minho says, walking along through the small village centre. Thomas follows him like a lost puppy, keeping an eye on Teresa.

"WCKD used to burn soulmates together here," Minho says, suddenly, and Thomas fucking jumps.

"What?"

"This place. It's abandoned because of what it was used for - I guess breaking the laws was so much worse back in the day. Bodies got burned here all the time - or hung."

Thomas feels sick, and Teresa wanders over to them, a disgusted look on her face. She reaches over to grab Thomas' arm, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "It'll be fine," she murmurs to him, and he nods.

"Tell me more." He says to Minho, who shakes his head a little sadly. "That's all there is," he says, stopping suddenly to gaze at everything. "This place - it's not good. That's probably why they set up an underground supplier for soulmates that broke the law so close to here. Maybe some form of respect."

Teresa let's go of Thomas, and the three of them walk in silence. Thomas places a hand on his stomach somewhat protectively. The drawing is there, Newt is there. He clenches his fists. How could they do that? _Why_?

They near a small gateway, and Minho leads them through a small enclosed alley, that leads to a giant wall with **WICKED IS GOOD** graffitied on it. Thomas almost laughs at the irony. "Who the hell wrote that?"

"Dunno," Minho mumbles, rolling a red dumpster in front of the wall, climbing on top of it in order to reach the top. "Come on, we don't have all day."

Teresa follows first, and soon they disappear to the other side of the wall, and Thomas takes one last glance, shivering at the god awful place they've just walked through, and follows too.

He glances down at his hands once more, biting his lip. He has no idea if these people will help, he can only hope that they've got _something_ that can hide everything Newt and him have been saying to each other - anything.

He climbs up onto the dumpster, and pulls himself up onto the wall, taking a moment to sit. He can see the boardwalk, and Teresa and Minho have already began walking away.

 _This better fucking work_ , he thinks, poking at his stomach. His belly is in knots, and he swallows thickly, folding his hands in his lap. He doesn't want to go to jail, or get hurt. Hell, he doesn't want _Newt_ to go to jail, or get hurt. _Fuck_. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Pushing back his thoughts, he tries to relax. This is good. He's here, he's at wildwood boardwalk, and he's going to be fine. Him and Newt will be just fine.

Won't they?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYEE here's chapt 3!!  
> so theres a little insight on newt, and a little bit of a hint to his past (jsjsjsjsjs)  
> body and hand checks will be explained properly in the next chapter!! ik it's probs rly confusing but i swear i'll explain it properly ajsjfjfjdkw
> 
> anywaysss i hope you enjoyed and i'll see y'all w another update soon!! i've got exams and all but chapter 4 will be up asap i promise :)  
> \- bee


	4. iv.

11.05.18  
12:03pm  
sunday.

The boardwalk is busy and loud, packed with carnival workers and groups of friends, the faint smell of candy floss and cigarettes lingering in the air.

Thomas stares down at his feet, shuffling lightly across the sun-rotted planks, as they blend in. Minho is leading, and Teresa has her lips set into a thin line. She subconsciously guides Thomas behind her, occasionally tugging on his wrist when he slows his pace.

The tram car is just around the corner, and Thomas finally raises his head when Teresa lets go of him, nervous he's lost them.

He hasn't, but he takes the chance to look around, and Wildwood is truly beautiful. It smells of fresh ocean air, the sky is dotted with simple specks of fluffy clouds and the atmosphere has that vibe to it that brings the summery smell that washes through Thomas like old memories.

He catches up to Teresa and Minho, waiting until his shoulders are bumping next to Minho's before he stares back at his shoes again. It's safe to say he's nervous as hell - the knot is his stomach has really kicked in. He swallows thickly, blood pumping vibrantly with the loud crowd, thumping his skull.

Minho grabs Thomas' wrist, leading him around a sharp corner, where there's some sort of bus like tram stop - packaged with a short queue of people, tapping their feet and checking their watches. Thomas almost sighs in relief. Almost there.

They join the queue, awkwardly shuffling at the back. Teresa begins to bite her nails, and Minho keeps side eyeing Thomas, who doesn't have a clue what _they're_ nervous for - he's the one facing major jail time, after all.

But he flashes them a broad smile to ease their nerves, and soon enough, the tram rolls up beside them, parking with a loud break that breaks Thomas' eardrums - again. Minho grabs them both and hauls them onto the vehicle, grumbling as he pays for all three.

Teresa gives him a grateful smile and Thomas pats his back with a "thanks man," and they find empty seats at the back, flopping onto them lazily, exhausted. Teresa flattens her head against the window, and Thomas spreads out in his seat, in between them. Minho sinks into his own, sluggishly slouched with his chin on his chest. They all sigh, relaxing.

"The fuck am I so tired for?" Thomas spits out, at some point, and Teresa lets out a snort. Minho's eyes aren't even open and Thomas almost feels bad for him.

"Long morning, Tom. Lucky it's just another hour before we can get to the - _you know what_ ," Teresa smirks, nudging him. "I hope this works. I don't want you to go to jail, you know."

Thomas leans over to rest his head onto her shoulder. He snuggles into her, closing his eyes. He's got an hour to spare, may as well use the time to his advantage. "Yeah," he smiles, crossing his arms. "Me either."

Teresa laughs, and closes her eyes too.

11.05.18  
7:18am  
sunday.

Newt rolls over onto his left hip, groaning into his pillow. His eyelids are stuck together and his mouth is dry and raspy. His fingers feel weird and he stretches them, kicking his legs while he's at it.

His face still feels sticky from his meltdown earlier on, and the fact alone almost sets him off again. He rubs at his eyes, slowly opening them, before blinking owlishly. His room is illuminated by the sun and his bedsheets are stripy from the rays through his blinds.

He sits up in his bed, taking a second to rub at his face and tug at his hair. He's still _fucking_ exhausted, but there's no point in trying to get back to sleep now. It's not worth it, anyways.

He throws himself out of bed, stumbling slightly, before wrapping his arms around himself. It's cold, to him. The weather is nice for once and he can tell the day is reasonably warm too, but it doesn't matter. Newts always cold.

He pulls on warm fluffy socks that hug his toes and he stands still for a moment, enjoying the feel of them. His cheeks still feel like sawdust and his nose is stuffy and red, but he opens the door to his bedroom and walks slowly - timidly - into the hallway.

He heads for the stairs, gripping the banister as he slowly makes his way down, one foot after the other, one step at a time. He focuses on his socks. They're red and blue, like his blankie. But they don't smell like tobacco.

The scent of smoke and alcohol hits his nostrils the second he opens the kitchen door, and he bites his lip. His eyes are tired still and haven't adjusted to the bright light, so he avoids his mum and step father sitting at the kitchen table, and heads for the fridge.

"Good morning, Newt," Tasha, Newt's mum, says cheerfully. She's sitting cross legged on a chair, a silky gown draped over her body. A cigarette hangs from her teeth, and Newt cringes internally. The smell of it makes his nose itch, and he almost turns away.

She pulls it from her lips and taps it against the side of her ashtray, still smiling at him. Helplessly, he smiles back. He wishes his mum weren't so influenced sometimes, but there's nothing he can do. Not now.

"Morning mum." He replies, and his voice is croaky and hoarse, laced with forgotten tears and washed away snot. He sniffs thickly, rubbing at his sore nose. A headache is starting to form at the back of his head, and he wants to kick himself.

Tasha doesn't say anything after that, so Newt takes that as a cue to start his breakfast. It's not much - bread with jello.

 _Bread_ and fucking _jello_.

He prepares it for himself anyways, because he won't be able to eat much else for a while. He pours himself a glass of unfiltered tap water, grabs the bread from the packet, doesn't bother buttering it because he doesn't like butter, and shoves a spoon in his mouth.

He doesn't want to eat in his room, but the kitchen seems too crowded with Tasha and Richard smoking and filling the air. He gathers his meal and leaves the room, then stands awkwardly in the hallway, not knowing where to go.

He eventually just sits on the floor in the living room. The rug is somewhat comfortable and he picks at the strands, shoving pieces of white bread down his throat. The jello is gone off but he doesn't care, and soon finds himself spooning that down his throat too.

There's nothing he wants to watch on the TV, he's not even sure if it works, but he leaves it off just incase, and eats quietly to himself, hungry. His throat is still grumbling when he's finished, and he wants to cry all over again.

 _Stop fucking crying_.

"Newt, get my keys upstairs, will you?" Richard calls out, and Newt can hear from his voice that he's got something between his lips. "Just in the counter in our room, there's a good fellow."

Newt wants to get sick.

Good fellow.

He hates those words. No, hate isn't strong enough. He can't stand those words. He fucking _despises_ them. Good fellow. No. Bad fellow. Bad bad _bad_ fellow.

He swallows, nodding even though no one can see him, and stumbles out of the room. His feet drag across the floor and his legs feel like lead, but his body somehow manages to carry him up the stairs again, despite the wanting urge to just collapse against the staircase. _Oh_ , how he wishes he would.

His hand freezes against the doorknob of their bedroom, and he stops. His eyes cloud over and his lips tremble. He hasn't been in this room since - since the incident. His hands shake twisting the handle open and he wants to turn and run as far as he can and never look back, but he forces himself to open the door.

He walks in and blindly runs across to Richards side of the room, grabbing the keys from his beside locker and falling over himself, trying his hardest to _get out of the room now get out get out get out get out_ -

He slams the door behind him, gasping and covering his mouth, his face, his eyes. He wants to hide, bury himself away from the world. He wants the ground to swallow him whole, and he sinks to his knees, trying his absolute fucking hardest not to cry. _Stop it Newt, you're stronger than this._

Trembling again, because he's always damn cold, Newt pulls himself to his feet. His hands are clammy and his feet are rubbing against each other. His head is swarmed with ugly memories that he wants gone and it takes all of his might not to breakdown right there and then.

Returning to the kitchen after almost stumbling down the stairs feels like the weight of the world on Newts shoulders. He, shakily, hands the keys to Richard, who's sitting opposite of his mums seat, smoking as well. He smirks, taking a long drag of the cigarette, before puffing it out in Newts face, who swallows, taking a step backwards. Tasha has gone to the bathroom, and they're alone.

Newt, opting for escape, turns to leave, but he feels Richard rising behind him and his heart quickens. As if on impulse, he stops, because Richard slinks up to him, snaking an arm around his waist from behind him, and he feels trapped.

A hand comes up to tuck a strand of sandy hair out of his eyes. Newt squeezes his eyes shut when he feels a hot mouth press against his ear. "Good boy," Richard whispers, and Newts whole body trembles with fear. He clenches his fists, refusing to open his eyes. It's not until he feels a hand cupping and squeezing his rear that he does, his face crumpling.

"Good fellow." Richard whispers again, dropping his hand after a few pats and walking away.

Newt throws up once he reaches the bathroom.

  
11.05.18  
1:07pm  
sunday.

"Wake up, assholes!"

Thomas is thrown off his seat from where his head was nestled comfortably on Teresa's lap, and he groans, his face smushed into the tram floor. It's kind of gross, considering the amount of dirty, grimy shoes that have been where is cheek is currently smudged into, so he groans again and pulls himself up.

Teresa has drool on the side of her cheek and her hair has fallen out of its updo. Rubbing her face with a disgusted expression, she reties her hair back into a ponytail, yawning. She stretches whilst looking at Thomas, who's swaying slightly. She thinks she'd laugh if he falls.

Minho is already standing in the middle of the tram, and the driver is getting impatient. "Get a move on, shanks!" Minho calls, again, and Thomas and Teresa push each other over, stumbling to get off the tram. They thank the driver (who's grumbling things none of them can hear) and jump off the vehicle, in an unfamiliar side of wildwood.

It seems less bright, more shady. There's no busy families with whiny children, but there's teenagers in corners with their hoods up and beer bottles in their hands thinking they're edgy. Thomas wants to laugh at them.

It seems darker over here, somehow. There's graffiti on the walls and run-down buildings with crooked roofs and broken windows that somehow still manage to look aesthetically pleasing in a way. Minho starts walking first, but Teresa and Thomas trail slowly behind him, gawking at the new sight.

There's old sushi restaurants and low service coffee shops, along with cheap charity stores and vintage craft shops that Thomas kind of wants to explore. It seems cool, in a weird kind of way he can't explain, he doesn't know what it is, but he likes it.

"Sushi place is down this way. We're almost there," Minho urges, walking faster. "Keep it moving, slow pokes."

Teresa and Thomas glance at each other, before walking at a quicker pace, catching up to him. Minho has a new air about him - off, iffy. He seems more reserved, like his guard is up. Thomas is definitely curious, but Minho has a stony expression that reminds him not to ask questions.

They round a corner, and a small black cat runs past them, skinny and fragile looking. It meows furiously, hissing before jumping into a trashcan. Thomas feels kinda bad, before he's tugged along, and soon enough, all three of them are outside a sushi restaurant - _schellenger's_.

It's a small, enclosed, wooden built structure with a sign that only lights up half the letters and flickers occasionally, and poor lighting on the inside, the whole place seems dark and shady. The cracked windows are boarded up with duck tape and the place has hardly any people.

Minho pushes the door open and it brings a little tingle from the bell, and Teresa and Thomas follow, almost obediently. It smells of fish and sour milk and Thomas almost gags, but he smoothes his expression as quick as he can, smiling brightly at nobody in particular.

Minho signals at them to stop walking, before continuing himself over to the counter. A small, dark skinned man is cleaning down the countertop, alongside a pale, red haired female that has red lipstick smeared across her lips. She's chewing gum, and she raises her eyebrows at Teresa and Thomas when they awkwardly wave at her.

Minho murmurs something to the man, who nods discreetly and hands him some sort of green pass - and it makes Thomas' eyes narrow in wonder. Him and Teresa follow Minho to the back of the restaurant, then, shuffling together in a dark hallway that leads to a small doorway yet without a door, but beads instead.

They push through the dangling doorway, and it leads them to a storage room, shelves of supplies circling them, tripping their eyesight. Minho kicks a rug on the floor out of the way, and a small trapdoor is underneath. Thomas actually laughs at the irony.

"What kind of wackass movie shit is this?" He snorts, but shuts up the second Minho gives him a dirty look. "Be quiet, will you," He mutters, wrapping his hands around the handle and tugging hard, lifting up the door. "Right, you guys go first."

Teresa looks at Thomas, shrugs, and jumps in, latching onto the ladder like a monkey. She gives them a smirk before starting her way down, and Thomas is once again in awe of her bravery.

He follows after her once he hears her feet landing on the ground, and he's relieved to find it's not so much of a drop down. Minho close the trapdoor after them, and soon, they're engulfed in darkness.

"Turn your torch on," Teresa instructs, pulling out her own phone. "I can't see, morons."

Minho and Thomas simultaneously roll their eyes but turn the torches on their phones on, waving them around to get a better view. They're in a dark, damp tunnel, that has three different ways to turn and faint dripping sounds around corners. Thomas gulps.

"This way, shanks," Minho orders, darting off in the left direction. Thomas follows him like a lost puppy and Teresa takes her time, humming softly to herself.

It's not long until they near the end of the passageway, and Minho whistles once they reach a door at the end of the tunnel. "Leads to the store," he explains, when Teresa and Thomas shoot him confused looks as to why the hell there's just a random door underground. "It's a super secret store for a reason, slintheads."

"Seems sketchy to me." Teresa comments, once they're face to face with it. It's just a metal door in the middle of the dark walls, in fact, you'd miss it if you weren't looking for it. "It's supposed to," Minho sighs, fed up with the both of them. "Super secret store, remember?"

Thomas clears his throat as a way to get them to hurry up, and Minho snorts before turning off his flashlight, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He knocks eight times on the door, pausing between two beats. _Super secret supply store has a super secret knock_. Thomas thinks, biting back a smile. _Awesome_.

It's a good two minutes before they hear the harsh twist of the door opening, loud and rough against their eardrums. It echoes against the tunnels, and once the door is thrust open, they're face to face with a bald white guy. He's large and buff and has about fourteen tattoos, with a short beard that seems ticklish and Thomas almost laughs again at how stereotypical this whole thing is.

Minho holds up the green pass, and the guy glances at it, before dropping his gaze back to his face.

"Miguel?" The guy says, in surprise. His throat is scratchy and his breath reeks of vodka, but his eyes are soft and his lips crinkle in a small smile. "Minho," Minho corrects, but his voice is gentle and he reaches out to shake the mans hand. "Good to see you, buddy."

Tattoo guy's face breaks into a joyful grin, and Thomas finds himself smiling along with him. "Minho!" He echoes, and gestures for the three of them to come inside. "Come in, come in!"

"Ferdinand, these are my friends, Thomas and Teresa. Thomas and Teresa, Ferdinand."

Minho introduces them with a wide smile and Thomas cleans over to shake tattoo guys - Ferdinand's - hand. He has a rough grip and shakes for a little too long, but his smile is infectious and he has a friendly face, so he doesn't dwell on it.

Ferdinand goes as far to kiss Teresa's hand. "For the pretty lady." He says, in a way that somehow isn't creepy, and Teresa laughs and slaps him playfully. "Stop it, you." She smiles and it's as if they've been friends for years.

The store itself, despite being hidden away from view, lights up in neon LEDs and beautiful fairy lights are draped across the walls, with tapestry and art decorating them. Thomas loves it the second the steps in.

The store isn't by any means full, but there are a few people chatting together and buying things that Thomas can't see. Ferdinand leads them through the aisles towards the counter, and the wooden floorboards creak beneath their feet as they walk. The ceiling and walls are a matte black, and the rainbow lights and neon signs bring the store to life so magically Thomas can't believe he's never been here before.

"It's lovely," Teresa murmurs beside him, running her fingers across the artwork on the walls. Thomas hums in agreement, and the nods towards the walls. "The lights are gorgeous."

"Aren't they?" Minho pipes in, from where him and Ferdinand are walking in front of the pair. He turns to them over his shoulder, the hardness in his face from earlier completely wiped away. "I'll never get over how much I love this place."

Ferdinand let's out a dry laugh that Thomas wants to clear his throat at, cuffing Minho's shoulders in thanks. "Ain't too bad, I'll say." He agrees, stopping once he's at the counter. Even that is lit up - jars of glow sticks and galaxy glow in the dark paint are on display.

"So, what can I get you?" Ferdinand says, and Thomas suddenly swallows again, throat tightening. The place itself doesn't seem too off and he's guessing it's a sort of disguise for the secret soulmate shit they're selling down here.

"Uh - I'm not sure - I - um ... I don't wanna go to jail?"

Minho facepalms and Teresa sighs _loudly_ beside him, and Thomas shrugs with a sheepish smile. What else is he supposed to say? He has no idea how this whole thing works.

Ferdinand, luckily, laughs loudly at that. "Ah, the rebellious yet the fearful. My favourite." He chuckles, grabbing Thomas' left hand suddenly, peering at it intensely. "Wrong one," Thomas tells him, swapping to his right. "He's left handed - I mean _they're_ \- fuck -"

Shaking his head to silence him, Ferdinand lets go of Thomas' hand. "You're not the first," he says, expression knowing. He has a look in his eyes that tells Thomas he's used to this, to impatient teenagers that can't wait any longer to find their soulmate. The ones that can't fidget any longer in anticipation - the ones who don't _care_.

"Who is he?" Ferdinand asks, smirking. Thomas bites his lip, trying to fight back a grin. "His names Newt." He starts off, because there's something about Ferdinand that makes him so astonishingly trusting and Thomas feels like he can tell him the worst secrets in the world.

"Newt," Ferdinand repeats, looking down with a shake of his head and a fond snort. "You've gone as far to tell each other names?"

Thomas nods, almost shyly. "I haven't told him mine, but he did it cleverly. Made it a riddle." He wants to explain the whole thing, but he's really not bothered and it's not exactly important. Besides, Newt left that little clue for him. It's not so bad to keep it to himself, right?

"Age? Birth place?" Ferdinand questions, and Thomas shakes his head, a little forlorn. "Haven't gotten that far - yet." He replies, suddenly cheeky, smirking. It earns him a laugh from the man, and he grins. "Just as well," Ferdinand quips, reaching out to poke him gently. "This stuff only works for so long."

He turns to kneel under the counter, returning with a small tub that doesn't have a label. It's black, and Ferdinand shakes it thoroughly before handing it to him, eyes sharp as he closes Thomas' hand over it, securing it's safety.

"This," he starts off, voice low and intense. All three of them lean in to listen, cautiously. "Is a _very important_ hand check disguiser. It was created by an old pal of mine - Gilbert Murphy - and how it works is simple yet effective, if used _correctly_."

Thomas peers at the tub in his hands, running his thumb across the lid. It seems far too valid to just be held in his own clumsy fingers, but he tightens his grip, anyway.

"In order for it to do it's job you have to follow the rules, even if that's clearly not on your agenda," Ferdinand continues, winking at him playfully. Thomas relaxes, letting out a small chuckle. He listens intently then, ears perked.

"First, your hands have to be clean. Extremely clean, you'll have to use the soap that goes with the disguiser." The shop owner turns to a shelf behind him, picking and choosing and taking his merry old time before finally he grabs another dark bottle, shaking that too.

"Once you've cleaned your hands, apply the lotion in the tub in circular motions until your hands are completely dry again. The amount of layers depend on the amount of times you've said things you're not supposed to have said. Once you go through body checks, only a certain amount of data will appear, the rest will be washed away depending on how many times you use the lotion." Ferdinand's tone is strict, but his eyes have a sparkle in them that Thomas finds intriguing. "As for your soulmate, it will clear up more or less for them too."

"This stuff is _magic_ ," Teresa breathes out, grabbing the bottle. She peers at it curiously, blue eyes wide with awe. "Seriously - it's so cool. How the heck was this even made?"

Minho and Thomas both turn to look at Ferdinand, who shrugs with a fond smile. "With a world like this, magic is always where you least expect it." He says, softly. "It's exciting, finding your soulmate, but WCKD always has a way to ruin that."

His shoulders droop then, and he clenches his jaw. His eyes seem icy and cold and Thomas definitely suspects there's more to his story. There always is, in this world. A whole lot more than anyone ever thinks.

Minho clears his throat then, and pulls out his wallet. He slaps Thomas' hands away when he tries to decline, and throws a $50 onto the table. The shop owner thanks him whilst placing the objects into a small bag, securing them closed with a flourish. Minho takes the bag with a quick wink. "Thanks, Ferdinand. Really."

"I owe you _big_ time," Thomas says, hoping his gratitude is clear enough in his expression. Ferdinand, like Minho, waves him off. "I do what I believe is right," He says, kindly. He leans forward onto his elbows, nodding at Thomas.

"Good luck, kid. Don't forget to come back, some day. I want to hear the rest of your story."

Thomas nods at him, promising that he will, and follows Teresa and Minho out of the store. He breathes in relief, sad to leave the beautiful atmosphere but happy to have a safety net. The bag swinging in Minho's hand holds the most important thing to his future right now, and he feels his heart rate slow down, finally calm.

"Thank you, guys. Especially you, Minho." Thomas says, quietly, as they parade through the tunnels again. Minho shoves him playfully, grin wide and contagious.

"Anytime, shank."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL IM SO SORRY I KNEW ID EXPLAIN ABOUT THE BODY AND HAND CHECKS BUT I SWEAR THEY WILL BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER ASDFGGHJLOEWKS
> 
> anyways, again apologies for newts bits i know they're really scarce and really sad when i do put things in his perspective but i swear i'll make it less uh grim whenever it's his part of the chapter <3
> 
> i think most of y'all can guess newts tragic past (:( ) i might go into a little bit more detail about what happened later with warnings at the start of the chapter if i'm comfortable enough to write it but for now i'm just gonna leave small stuff like that (fuck you richard) 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoyed and i promise a new chapter w the body checks will be up soon!! i'm sorry this chapter didn't have a lot of info but i promise it'll get more interesting sjsjsj
> 
> like & comment if u enjoyed cos those make me smile :) 
> 
> \- bee


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick disclaimer: there’s some more scenes with newts past and a few things on him in this chapter imply rape, it’s not very graphic but if you’re not comfortable reading that please don’t read this & stay safe lovelies <3

10.05.18  
7:56am  
monday.

Thomas tries not to tremble as he walks through the front doors of his school. He's got nothing to worry about - he applied the lotion like, five times last night and his hands feel dry and papery like they're supposed to. This is supposed to work. He's going to be fine.

_But how do I know that? How do I know it's not bullshit?_

Minho slaps him on the shoulder from behind, appearing out of nowhere. Thomas jumps a bit because he's already feeling on edge, and Minho rubs his arm reassuringly. "Don't sweat it, man. It'll work."

They walk past the lockers and into the assembly hall (or just their gymnatorium).They walk in silence, shoulders bumping against one another occasionally. Once they reach the hall, Thomas slows his walk, gulping at the sight of the hundreds of kids in queues to get checked. You'd think he'd be used to it, considering it's every damn month, but he still hates the sight of WCKD uniforms and the large detectors.

Teresa is in the girls line, talking to a girl Thomas recognises as Harriet and another girl named Rachel. Her eyes flicker around for a moment, before she spots him and gives him a quick wave, winking at him whilst mouthing "you're gonna be fine."

Thomas is suddenly glad for his choice of best friends, and quickly squeezes Minho's wrist in appreciation, who gives him a soft smile in return. They join the boys line, after dropping their school bags into the large pile under the bleachers.

Aris Jones and a guy Thomas recalls as Ben are in front of them, talking quietly. Aris shifts from foot to foot nervously and Ben seems as if he's trying to comfort him. Thomas furrows his brows together in confusion. Could they be possibly in the same situation as himself and Minho?

Minho, as if on cue, juts Thomas in the side with his elbow.  He gives him a warning look, when he catches Thomas' curious one. "Don't," he hisses, because Aris keeps glancing at them and he doesn't want to look suspicious. "Quit staring, Thomas. You're clean, remember?"

Thomas nods, slowly. The line is moving quickly than he remembers, without any interruptions. It's not surprising to see the nerves evident on most students faces, though. It's easy to distinguish them from general nerves to guilt - Thomas ensures he has a smooth expression. He's not getting caught out, not after all that.

The closer Thomas gets to the detectors, the knot in his stomach tightens. His hands tremble slightly, and he clenches them to stop himself shaking. It's ridiculous, he doesn't want to give himself away.

Aris seems worse. His nails are chewed raw, eyes wide and alert, hair wild and stuck up in all sorts of directions. Dark circles are painted vibrantly beneath his eyes and his legs are trembling. Thomas feels sorry for him - why wouldn't he?

Minho glances over with a sympathetic look, biting his lip. He's lucky he knows about the store in Wildwood - he's not sure what Thomas would have done otherwise. Aris clearly isn't as lucky, however, and continues to fidget restlessly as the queue grows shorter.

There's another ten boys behind them and ten boys less in front, when Thomas feels an itch on his skin - but it's not his hand, this time. Or his wrist. It's his leg. His thigh, to be exact, and he frowns in confusion. What's Newt doing?

He doesn't have much time to dwell on it, because suddenly Ben as been through and Aris shuffles to the detectors shyly, hands clenched furiously and nostrils flared. Two WCKD soldiers stand on either side of the machine, strong and silent. Aris raises his hand to press it against the scanner attached to the side of the machine, waiting for the clear before he removes it.

Pocketing his hand, Aris walks through the detector with a hard expression, and it's almost as if he's expecting it when a large alarm erupts from the machine - ear-piercing beeps that send chills down Thomas' spine.

Almost immediately, WCKD soldiers jump to action. Five of them gather around Aris, and Thomas can feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest. There's still a faint scratching on his thigh and Minho is grasping his wrist, but he stares solely at Aris, who's being dragged away by WCKD.

Aris doesn't stand a chance, but screams anyway, kicking and flailing his arms and biting at hands that trap his mouth. He shouts until his voice turns hoarse and he's almost outside the gym, yelling and trying to rip himself out of their grasp - and Thomas feels like he's going to be sick.

Once he's gone, Thomas breaks his gaze from the doors and turns to find Teresa, his eyes large with horror. Hers match his, just as round with pure terror. The two of them share a frightened look across the hall and Minho swallows thickly beside him. Thomas isn't the only one, all of the students cower up in fear, after seeing what just happened.

A WCKD guard steps forward, shoulders squared and stance even. "That," he begins, voice gruff and dry, deep with age. "Is what happens when you don't follow the rules. Understand?"

The students nod, simultaneously. They're silent, horrified. They don't understand. Thomas doesn't understand. How is that okay? Aris is just a child - they can't just take him away, surely? Can they?

Minho grips harder, Thomas wants to cling back. Jail. Aris is going to jail.

It's awkward and the air is still filled with fear when the guards jump back into action, ushering the lines along to complete the check. Thomas still feels ill walking up to the detector, and despite the lotion, he still feels sick.

He places his hand on the hand scanner first, craning his head to check and see what appears. On the monitor beside them, Thomas waits and holds his breath as he's scanned, before a few doodles of Newts appear on the screen, reminders, dates. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Thomas drops his hand with a shaky breath, walking through the large machine. He stops in the middle and stands still as the red scanner illuminates his body, searching for bad.

He almost collapses in relief once he steps through with a nod of the guard - he's safe.

The guard checks the monitor one last time, and Thomas frowns when he sees his face morph into one of concern. Disgust, even. Thomas kind of wants to check what it is that has the guard so pent up - but he's already urging Minho forward.

Minho takes a few seconds behind him, giving him a thumbs up as the scanner flashes down his body, his hand already cleared. Thomas grins, the knot in his stomach eases and once Minho steps through and they're both clear to go, they walk all the way back to the bleachers, retrieving their bags.

"I can't believe it!" Thomas laughs out, joyfully. It's a bubbly kind of laughter, a mixture of relief and giddiness at the same time. His stomach still pools with the familiar nervousness towards what the WCKD guard saw - but the tight ache is gone and he doesn't feel like throwing up anymore.

"Poor Aris, though," Minho says, after cuffing Thomas' shoulder. "I mean, they didn't even give him a chance to explain himself. They just - they just see something they don't like and bam. You're gone."

Thomas nods along, eyebrows knitted together. It's so _unfair_. Who knows where Aris is now?

"It's weird," he agrees, as they push open the doors of the gym, heading out into the packed hallways, filled with harsh gossip of Aris' bad luck. "He's just....gone. A normal kid, normal student. He broke the rules and now, just gone."

"Vanished. Into thin air," Minho replies, shifting his bag on his shoulder slightly. "Coulda been you, y'know. Anything could have went wrong today. Ferdinand is a life saver."

Thomas nods quickly, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth. "For sure."

Thomas still can't get the weird itching on his thigh out of his head, though. Newt is probably sleeping - so what's going on?

"I'll be back in a second." He tells Minho, who nods in understanding and heads towards his locker. Thomas almost sprints down the hallway, bumping into people with the occasional "I'm so sorry" and "pardon me" and "excuse me!"

He barges into the bathrooms with a heavy breath, running into one of the stalls as if his life depends on it. Honestly, anything Newt does has him so worked up - it'd be funny, if it wasn't so fucking exhausting.

The humor is wiped out of him straight away though, when he rolls down his jeans to check his legs.

 _Disgusting_ is inked messily on his right thigh, thick with black marker. It's spaced out unevenly, and the lettering is jagged, scratchy.

Thomas feels his heart thump a little faster, his eyes open a little wider and his brows furrow a little deeper. He squints at the word, confused and concerned. He stares hard, a bad, uncomfortable feeling settling roughly in his stomach.

_Newt, what have you gotten into now?_

10.05.18  
3.08am  
monday.

Newt can feel himself slip away.  
Turning to mush beneath his own fingertips. He can't catch himself and he stumbles, knees weak. Tripping mindlessly onto the bathroom floor, failing to grasp onto the sink. His eyes burn with exhaustion.

His legs are shaking. His entire body is a trembling mess, weak and cold. So damn cold.

Bile rises in his throat as he tries his hardest to swallow it down. He lays limp, head lolling back onto the edge of the bathtub. It's uncomfortable and hurts his neck, but he can't find it in him to care. There's a throbbing in his thighs and he wants it to _go the fuck away_.

His mum is out tonight. Doing what he doesn't know - doesn't particularly care all that much, but when she's not around, it leaves him alone with Richard. That's not good. It's bad. Bad, bad, _bad bad bad._

His eyes are dry, despite the need he feels for them to be wet. He wants to cry, but he's got no tears left. His cheeks feel too papery, skin too sawdusty. His nose is running, but he doesn't wipe it away. He closes his eyes instead, and _wills_ for the aching between his legs to stop. For the bruising on his hips to fade. For the marks on his collarbone to disappear.

He reopens them to find himself floppy on the tiles of a too bright bathroom, white and blinding. The light is harsh on his eyes, sore. He squints anyways, rubbing at them roughly. His hair falls across his forehead, greasy yet soft at the same time. He needs a shower.

He wants a shower really - to wash it all away. To wash away the guilt. To imagine the disgusting feeling empty itself down the drain in dirty water droplets. He feels so fucking _dirty_. He squeezes his legs together, feeling his face crumple. He feels wrong. All wrong, wrong wrong.

"Bad," he mumbles, his head lolling sideways onto his shoulder. "Bad..boy..dirty..."

Words are coming out of his mouth and he spits them out, feeling the saliva run down his chin. He doesn't wipe that away either, instead he curls into himself tighter, having no control on how heavy his head feels, or how he thinks it might unscrew from his neck.

It's not until it becomes too much that he throws up all over himself, throat burning, when he finally decides to turn the shower on. Vomit is coated all down his chest and t-shirt, mixed with spit and tears. He feels even more disgusting, peeling the old, oversized tee off of him. Vomit drips down his skin, sticky and lumpy and warm.

The shower is cold, but so is he, so he sits in the bathtub shivering, mind blank and body limp. He's only in his boxers, but they're ripped and covered with his own semen and he cries harder looking at them.

He doesn't wash himself properly. He waits for the sick to flood cleanly off of him, before he stands up again, turning off the shower. His hair covers his eyes and he feels wobbly, unsecure. He debates on sitting there for another three hours, to die of hypothermia.

He doesn't.

He's almost naked leaving the bathroom, dripping wet from both his tears and the shower. His mind is a jumbled mess and so his his throat, clogged and tight. Then, suddenly breathing is difficult. Seeing is difficult. Moving is difficult. Living, is difficult.

He stumbles through the hallway, throwing open his bedroom door, before sinking to his knees once he slams it shut. His heart feels shattered, torn open, as if someone has ripped it open and stamped on it several times. Oh, his fingers - they shake uncontrollably. He shuts his eyes again, balling his small hands into fists.

The feeling won't go away. The feeling of _him_ \- _inside of him_ \- and Newt cries out, walloping his head into his door, thumping it repeatedly. The memories are as vivid as ever - he can still smell him, see his face, feel the harsh thrusts, and God, _it fucking hurts_.

So he cries. He cries and cries and cries and cries. He's almost certain Richard can hear him, but he doesn't care. He weeps and sobs and whimpers until he collapses into himself, exhausted. He feels weak, empty, used. He's nothing more than a lanky rag doll, to him. No, he's nothing to Richard. Just a _thing_ he can _fucking play with_.

There's a black marker on his bed, and Newt reaches over to curl his fingers around it. He grips it tightly for a few moments. It's like the pen situation - he can feel something else now. Not the rough hands on his hips, not the god-awful breath ghosting on his neck. The marker. He can feel the marker.

His knuckles turn white but he doesn't loosen his hold. Instead, he rips the cap off, harshly grabbing his thigh. The bruises are still there, hand shaped and swollen, purple and green and brown and they look disgusting.

 _He's_ disgusting.

So, without a second thought, or any recognition of the fact it's three o clock in the morning and he's still sticky and sore and needs to change, he grips the marker, and _prints_.

**_Disgusting_ **

10.05.18  
monday.  
10:38am

Thomas can't focus, much.

Well, he can't focus at all, really.

History is the last thing on his mind right now and he really can't care less about Martin Luther King. He feels jittery, nervous. He honestly has no idea why, but he tries to get his shit together because Teresa is looking at him weird and he doesn't want to try explain this one, not this time.

 _Disgusting_. Why would Newt write that? More importantly - why his thigh? Newt _never_ writes on his legs, it's always his arms or stomach, maybe his feet if he's feeling funny. But not his legs. Ever.

Thomas can't stop thinking about it. He's in the clear now, and the fact that he doesn't have to worry about getting caught has shifted his focus, so now he's just fucking _concerned_. He can _say_ stuff now - they can actually talk and learn about each other without getting caught.

But Newt doesn't know that.

Thomas actually gasps once he realises - of _course_! No wonder, he didn't even bother to fucking _tell_ Newt about the lotion - it actually slipped his mind. He can tell Newt things, his name, his age. It's not a big secret anymore. They're protected. They're _safe_.

Hastily, he grabs his pen, ready to write a long ass paragraph all over his arm explaining their situation, when his phone vibrates almost on cue in his pocket. The class has a small chatter amongst themselves, so, preferably, the sound goes unnoticed.

Thomas pulls out his phone and frowns when he sees a text from Minho. They're in the middle of class - what could he possibly want all the way from his English room?

_**Minho** : careful, man. just got a text from Ferdinand. the lotion only works once, so u have to use it wisely. anything ya say now shows up on the monitors. guess he forgot to tell us._

Thomas pockets his phone again, sighing deeply.

Well, fuck.

10.05.18  
7:45am  
monday.

Showing up at school is a fucking nightmare, to say the least. Newt is a hundred percent positive he looks like he's been in a train wreck, and the fact that the body checks are today don't really help matters either.

He's fucked, to put it gently.

Royally, truly, and terribly fucked.

His hair is messy and flopping around on his head as he limps down the hallway, shoving past students without a single polite word, stony faced as he heads towards his locker. Alby is at his own, which is next to his, ironically enough . He's talking to a boy called Winston, who's got pretty tanned skin and dark hair. He's ok, Newt supposes.

He growls to himself as he practically rips open his locker, grumbling useless words as he shoves his books into his bag. He's still a mess from last night, and the ass slap and neck kiss he received from Richard this morning didn't fucking help, either.

Alby glances at him with a worried frown and Newt is seriously considering flipping him off for no necessary reason, but he grits his teeth with the fakest smile he can muster and slams his locker shut again, too pissed off to give a single fuck.

Alby gives him an odd look, but before he can make his way over, Newt's already speed walking down the hallways again, his limp more noticeable than ever. Alby frowns, crossing his arms as his eyes burn into the back of his best friends school blazer. Somethings up with him, to say the least.

"Is he okay?" Winston says, touching Alby's shoulder. It's a soft gesture, kind even, but Alby shakes him off, nicely as possible, before guiding him to turn and walk the other way, towards the library.

"Yeah," he replies, sullenly, because he's not bothered to deal with Newts shit right now. His mood swings are seriously nerve-wracking, despite being concerning, as well. "He's fine."

On the other side, Newt curses his messed up leg for slowing him down, before he feels a sharp sting shoot up the back of his calve. Fuck. Today really just _isn't_ his day. At all. He bothers to wonder about what he really did to deserve all this. Karma's a bitch, after all.

The bathrooms are closer now, at least. He doesn't even need to go - he just needs a second, because he thinks he might snap and break someone's fucking nose if someone _touches him one more time accident or not -_

He pushes open the doors to the boys bathroom. The walls are a cadet blue, clean despite the rest of the room. He steps nimbly over the wet tissues on the floor and narrowly walks into a stall, sighing in relief once he closes the door and sits himself on the toilet seat. He busies himself with staring at the door, which is covered with ugly messages like _i fucked your mum_ and _trisha shagged luke_ and _mitchell sucked cock_. Lovely.

Everything is too overwhelming for some reason and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with his blankie because that's the only fucking comfort he's got in his life. The only thing that won't leave him.The only thing he can hold and squeeze and never let go.

He brought it with him to school, he remembers, suddenly. Unzipping the front pocket in his school bag hastily, Newt pulls out the familiar red and blue cotton, hugging it with closed eyes for a moment. It's almost ridiculous - sixteen years old and he still needs his _stupid fucking blankie_ to calm him down, but he's got nothing else. Nothing as secure.

He's not long, because the schools announcing the beginning of the body and hand checks through the speakers and for every student to head to the library in a _single file please_ , and Newt is tugged back into reality, his blanket hidden away, zipped up back into safety.

He leaves the bathroom calmer than before, at least. His leg has eased a little and his limp isn't as painful, but even so, he takes his _merry fucking time_ walking to the library. It's only hit him now that he's going to get caught. Oh _fuck_ \- _he's going to get caught._

He told his soulmate his name. But he did that secretly, right? He was subtle, smart. Right? What he said could easily be reminders for some kind of project - Isaac Newton was a genius, after all. But, oh fuck, the penis.

He's going to go to jail because of a fucking _penis_.

Unbelievable.

He walks numbly towards the entrance of the library. The detectors have been set up and are just as daunting as always. The boys and girls lines are separated as usual, and as fucking always, the WCKD guards stand still, exact same stance, exact same positions. It's all the damn same.

He's last, late, almost, which is a little embarrassing because the guards give him what he suspects is a dirty look through their helmets, so he shuffles quietly to the back of the boys queue, behind some guy in his science class, George.

George is actually pretty nice, and gives him a gentle smile once he comes up behind him. Newt, despite his awful feeling, smiles back. It's nice to see a friendly face, even if he was a pure dick to Alby earlier on. What can he say? Mood swings suck _ass_.

The queue, like every month, moves along pretty quickly. Newt honestly hasn't even got much time to register the fact that he's literally going to go to jail after this. This is his last day in school, his last day in this library. In all honesty, he's almost relieved. No more Richard, right? He's going to get captured but it's almost as if he going to get freedom.

How ironic.

Before he even knows it, Newt's next in line. George is just after going, and there's been no complications. Well, Newt's going to be the start of that. Fun times, really.

He walks gingerly towards the machine. The majority of the boys have left the library and most girls have gone too, but the guards are getting impatient. He places his hand on the hand scanner, watching as the flat tablet analyzes his handprint, scanning it repeatedly. Newt is almost waiting for the beep.

It doesn't come, and he's confused as hell. He removes his hand when the tablet lights up in green, giving him the clear, and he walks, almost shell-shocked, through the detector. When that gives him the clear too - he knows there's definitely something going on, because seriously - what the fuck?

The WCKD guards nod at him in approval, and he shoulders his bag before leaving the library, pushing the pull door because he's dumb as hell, with eyes wide with shock and almost feeling the tiniest bit disappointed. How the in the _hell_ -

Newt feels a itch on his hand. It makes him smile a little, because it's been a while since they've last spoken, and something is definitely going on at the other end. How did he not get caught? What's his soulmate doing? How did he manage to secure the _both_ of them?

In all honesty, the words _what the fuck_ are the only things he's able to think of right now, as he pushes his way through the students. His eyes are on his left palm as he watches the words appear, ticklish yet somehow sweet at the same time. It makes him smile wider, because suddenly things are OK.

His smile quickly turns into a confused frown however, yet humor still lingers on his lips. He bites back a grin, staring at his hand, because it looks like his soulmate has copped on. He's decided to play, too.

 _Chanel 5_  
_6:00pm_  
 _first word_

Newt suddenly breaks into a shit-eating grin, from ear to ear. A clue. His soulmate has left him a clue.

So, a game it is, then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hi i'm sorry this is so late, but i've been really busy lately with exams and my dog just passed away on sunday night so i've been a bit of a fucking mess yikes.
> 
> anyways, thank you to those who are reading, the comments actually make my day so thank you so much !!  
> i've got exams on this week (i didn't go in today because i honestly can't focus on anything except for my lil dog) which is why the updates today sjsjsjs
> 
> i love u all very much & im very grateful to those who are liking & commenting and just reading. it means the world, truly.
> 
> \- bee


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pheW this chapter is the last kinda slow moving thing and i promise it’ll pick up from here on!! thanks so much for patiently waiting for some action i know it’s frustrating :/
> 
> anyways if you wanna talk my twitter is @rusticnewt so ya can find me there :))

11.05.18  
5:08pm  
tuesday.

"Since when were you so _sneaky_?"

"Oh, wow. Thanks, T."

"No, seriously - what the hell?"

Teresa pushes back loose strands of hair from her face, the tip of her biro pen clenched between her teeth. Her arm is resting over her homework sheet, balanced neatly on the back of a few textbooks. Laying comfortably on her stomach on Thomas' bed, she swings her crossed legs behind her, a look of surprise on her face.

Minho is slouched on a navy beanbag that takes up half the space in Thomas' bedroom, flipping lazily through an old comic book, minding his own business. That is, until Thomas decided to speak up and confess yet another fucking problem.

"Do you like, ever, I dunno, _think_? I mean, for fucks sake Thomas, we travel across the damn country for you to cover your dumb ass and you _still_ don't learn shit." Minho doesn't raise his voice, but he throws his arms up in disbelief.

He's trying to look stern and cross whilst being swallowed by a massive beanbag and Thomas can't take him seriously, so he laughs and earns himself a swat from Teresa, who's biting her lip in a mix of emotions.

Thomas himself, is sat at the head of his own bed, legs crossed and hands folded onto his lap, tugging at his shoelaces. What he's done isn't necessarily bad, just a little risky. But, come on, he's been taking risks for a while lately. Why stop now?

"Newt, I swear, is such a shitty influence on you - you and rebellious wouldn't even go in the same sentence three weeks ago!" Minho exclaims loudly, pushing himself off the beanbag to stand up and saunter over to Thomas, who curls up with a playful grin.

"Don't hurt me!"

"You bet I'm gonna fuckin' hurt you!"

Thomas laughs loudly as Minho grabs him and gives him a noogie, ruffling his hair before they start to wrestle properly on the bed. They flip each other over and fight to pin the other down between breathless laughs and pants, shoving at one another while Teresa complains about them crinkling her notes.

"Okay, okay! Truce!" Thomas shouts, throwing his head back onto his pillows, out of breath. Minho snorts and shoves him one last time before rolling off the bed, returning to slumping into the beanbag. "You're still a dumbass." He says, with a cheeky grin.

Thomas rolls his eyes, before dropping his gaze into his hand with a small smile. Newt's clever. He'll figure this one out. It's not particularly hard, either.

"Hey, I just felt bad. I know his name and he doesn't know mine! That's not exactly fair, is it?" Thomas says, trying to reason as he leans back onto his elbows. "I mean, he's really in the dark, here. He doesn't even know about the lotion."

"Well, you definitely can't tell him that," Teresa's tone suddenly turns harsh, strong. Her expression is not to be messed with and she puts down her pen, sharply. Minho catches Thomas' eye from across the room and they share a look of _what's up with her?_

"Okay, T. Don't get snippy. I'm not that dumb, as hard as it is to believe." Thomas says. He says it lightly as possible, trying to come across as playful, but Teresa huffs a little and opens up another book, ignoring him.

Minho makes a face behind her back and Thomas rolls his eyes, nudging her hip with his foot. "Come on, Teresa. You said yourself I'm sneaky. I'm returning Newt's favour. It's subtle, like he's done, and it can be covered up easily. I'm not gonna get caught!"

"Well, I'm glad you're so confident." Teresa replies in monotone, not looking up from her textbook. Minho stifles a snort from behind her and Thomas sighs, staring at his hand again, analyzing.

_Chanel 5_   
_6:00pm_   
_first word_

That's hardly an easy riddle, right? Sure, Newt can figure it out, hundred percent, but the WCKD guards? It can be a simple reminder. Thomas already has the excuse if he's asked planned at the top of his head - Teresa has nothing to worry about.

"Relax, T." Minho pipes up, reading Thomas' mind. "It's like what Newt did, right? If they seem suspicious it can just be reminders for a kid he's babysitting, or something."

Teresa sighs loudly, because she feels bad that she's spoiling Thomas' fun but she's worried. They all saw what happened to Aris - neither of herself and Minho want the same fate for Thomas, too.

"Right, fine, okay. Just, be careful, alright?" She says it plainly enough, but Thomas nudges a smile onto her and the three of them return to normal conversation, Thomas' plotting forgotten.

11.05.18  
11.17am  
tuesday.

Newt can't hold in his newfound happiness.

Okay, so, maybe he should be ashamed for all the right reasons - he's skipping school today, he's intentionally breaking the law, he's purposely fucked up Richards hair dye (but that was funny) and for some reason all of those things have made his mood quite peculiar today, oddly enough.

Richard and his mum have gone off to town, thinking that Newts in school. (Of course he's not - how can he be in school when he's on another discovery mission?!) So he's free to roam the house without the lingering fear of being caught. He can finally fucking breathe and he _loves_ it.

Newt loves a lot of things. He hates a lot of things, too, but he prefers to have a more positive mindset. (How _ironic_ ) He loves dogs, he loves drawing - he loves his comic book stash hidden from Richard because it makes him feel somewhat in control.

As cheesy as it is, he loves yellow flowers and he loves the sound of rain against window panes. He loves motorbikes even if he's never been on one and he loves when his in _that_ mood where confidence pours off him like silk. Where he feels like nothing can get in his way.

He loves unhealthy food because he never fucking has any and he loves the fact that his soul is intertwined with someone else's and holy _shit_ he can't wait to meet him someday.

But most of all, Newt loves freedom, peace, a little bit of mystery. He loves being alone and he loves being curled up in a library with a good book. He loves not knowing certain things and having to figure it out because it makes it all the more fun. He loves to be rebellious, despite him not really ever getting the chance to do much at home. But now they're not here - and he can do whatever the hell he wants.

He's sat on the kitchen counter, not on the seat, the countertop. Why? Because he _can_. He can sit up on the counter with his shoes on because nobodies gonna tell him otherwise. He's had about six bowls of cereal that he's never allowed to have and toast with nutella and about twelve cups of juice because he can and he feels fucking invincible.

"Try stop me now, fuckers." He says aloud, laying flat on his back with his legs in the air. He laughs happily to himself, because if this is what freedom feels like he wants more of it. More, more, _more_.

He's also taken about three showers already, one for washing his hair, one for washing his body, and one for literally burning himself alive because he's never allowed to use hot water. (Even if it means he has to wipe the mirrors from the steam and turn the water cold after to hide any trace of him using hot water - he doesn't care.)

He feels so fucking peaceful, and he rolls off the counter to pour himself another bowl of cereal because why the hell not? He's got a variety of options and Richard and mum never have cereal, anyways. There's pancakes in the microwave that he's reheating because he's already made a batch and had like, four, but he wants more because this won't last and he's making the most of it.

Newt can't even remember the last time he's had a proper meal. He's usually only allowed something small in the mornings (hence the bread and jello) then for dinner it's like, a bowl of cold potatoes. Or something.

Newt isn't given nearly enough food for a sixteen year old growing boy, and shit, he's _starving_. He's eaten like half the kitchen already but does he give a fuck? No, no he does not.

The microwave tings and he scrambles out of his seat to grab the three he reheated, before placing the plate on the table to decorate them in sugar, nutella. Anything he can. He hasn't had pancakes in years and he almost cries at how good they taste.

He's debating on making himself rashers and sausages with scrambled eggs as well just for the fuckery when he remembers his hand. The clue. The _game_.

He grins. It's sunny outside, the birds (ironically, again, enough) are singing, Richard and Tasha are gone for the day, Newt's eating like a king, his soulmate has left him a riddle to hack and he's fucking _living_. Today is going good and it's only 11am. Like he says, he's fucking invincible.

_Chanel 5_   
_6:00pm_   
_first word_

Newts licking sugar off his thumb like a little kid as he reads his palm, eyes bright and curious. Chanel 5?

Oh, right. Shit. TV.

He's almost positive the television in the living room doesn't even work, thanks to one of Richards common tantrums, but Newt doesn't even want to wait until six o clock in the evening to find out what the answer is - mum must have a TV guide somewhere.

Shoving the last piece of his pancake into his mouth and downing his cup of orange juice, Newt burps then laughs to himself again, standing up to walk towards the living room. Alas, he's correct. A TV guide sits uselessly on the coffee table, and Newt snatches it up the second he lays his eyes on it.

He runs his finger down each of the TV stations, finally finding the Chanel he's looking for. Newt snorts when he reads it. _Channel_ 5\. Idiot spelt it wrong.

His eyes fall onto the times next to the station, blurry as he skips past all the morning and afternoon times until his eyes land on 6:00pm. First word. First word? Newt glances at the TV show that's playing at six, and the second he does, he laughs.

He doesn't even have to wait for the realization to hit him - he cops on straight away and laughs as loudly as he can.

 _Thomas the Tank Engine_.

Newt laughs so hard he drops the guide, he would honestly roll his eyes if he could but his stomach is starting to hurt and his eyes are squeezed shut as giant belts of laughter escape from his belly. He's _ugly_ laughing, and it's not until he's wiping the tears from his eyes he finally calms down, smiling so wide his face hurts.

It's Thomas. His soulmates name is _Thomas_.

Newt loves and hates a lot of things.

This is one of them.

This? This, he fucking _loves_.

  
11.05.18  
7:08pm  
tuesday.

"How did the H&B checks go, Tom?" Thomas' dad, Patrick asks, handing the bowl of peas to his mom, Lisa. "You seemed pretty nervous going in yesterday, you haven't been up to anything bad, right?"

Thomas stops cutting up his steak to stare at his dad with the best disbelieving expression he can muster. "No, dad, not at all - I'm always nervous with hand and body checks. You know the WCKD guys creep me out."

"Not to mention with the new system they're planning," Lisa says, placing a forkful of veg in her mouth. She chews for a moment while her son and husband look at her with anticipation, and she swallows hastily, a sheepish look on her face once she realises they're waiting for her to continue.

"I haven't heard much. Just some new tech, or something. Apparently they're upgrading the system. To be able to detect who said what, at what time, stuff like that. It's getting a bit ridiculous, if you ask me." She says, catching Thomas' eye. Her son looks even more nervous, playing with his food. She can practically see all the gears running in his head.

Patrick taps Thomas' knee with his foot under the table, smiling. "Relax, kiddo. We trust you not to do anything stupid." He says, which makes Thomas feel even more guilty at the whole situation. WCKD changing the systems? Can they get any more suspicious?

"How are they?" Lisa says, then, nodding towards Thomas' hand, where Newts drawn a load of smiley faces. He seems to be quite chirpy today. "Your soulmate, I mean."

"Uh, right. Yeah, he's - oh fuck - I-I mean, I meant -" _fuck_.

That's where it all goes to shit.

Lisa pauses where she was about to put food into her mouth, Patrick chokes on his wine and Thomas stares anywhere but them, shuffling his feet uncomfortably under the table. _Shit. Shit shit shit_.

Time to bullshit.

"Sorry," Thomas says, taking a deep breath. "I just kind of assumed they were a he - it makes me feel a little more connected to them. They kinda have...a boyish personality...." Thomas trails off, staring at his peas.

"You - you _think_ your soulmate is a boy?" Lisa asks, a little weakly. She seems a little more relieved that it's more of a thought instead of a fact - Thomas kinda saved himself. He nods, suddenly feeling his stomach churn. "W-would you guys, have ... a problem with that?"

"Not necessarily." Patrick speaks up, reaching over to pat his sons shoulder. "We don't mind you being gay, or bisexual, or whatever Thomas. We just don't want you to know who they are yet - you've only got a year left. I don't want you spending your eighteenth birthday in prison."

He says it almost jokingly and Thomas feels some sort of relief flood through him, and he sinks back into his seat with a sigh. "Yeah, course, dad. I just like to think that they're a boy - obviously I don't know for sure."

Lisa nods almost aggressively, eyes burning into Thomas'. "Of course. Think what makes you happy, kiddo. You'll see for yourself soon enough."

"A kid got caught," Thomas blurts, suddenly, because it's making him guiltily uncomfortable talking about his own soulmate. "This guy, Aris. I don't know what he did exactly, but there was this massive deal and WCKD soldiers dragged him out of the gym. It was kind of off-putting, honestly."

Lisa shakes her head in sympathy. Her heart aches for kids that simply _can't wait_ , even those who just slip up. Mistakes happen far too often in the WCKD world, and she hopes to dear God that nothing happens to her son.

Patrick clears his throat, his dinner plate almost clear. "Learning experience though. Poor kid, really, but at least the rest of you kids get to feed off his mistakes. I'm sure a riot like that would keep a few impatient teens in their place."

Thomas nods, understanding. It's kind of funny that he's having this conversation with his parents, considering he literally told Newt his name yesterday, but he doesn't think too hard on it. He won't get caught. He _won't_.

He just hopes that Newt won't either.

Thomas glances between his parents. They were soulmates once too, once upon a time - still are, really. He glances at the words written with red pen on his fathers hand, then to his mothers, the same red ink lacing her own.

They found each other. They waited years to find one another - and when they did, they fell in love. They got married and moved in together and have had a beautiful future. They had Thomas and raised him right - they cherish each other and Thomas swears, every time his mother or father write on their hands, it's like they fall in love all over again.

Thomas wants that. He wants to find Newt. He wants to know how old he is, what he looks like, how he sounds. He wants to hear his laugh and see his smile and know all the quirky things that make him who he _is_. He wants to know his bad habits and wants to know his good, he wants to hug him and hold his hand and _fuck_ , wants so so much and he's not entirely sure he can wait.

Newt could look like anything. He could be tall, short. He could have red hair or brown. He could have green eyes or blue. He could have freckles or clear skin. He could be dark or pale. Thomas has no clue, and googling 'common British boys' didn't give him many ideas.

And by god, he's not waiting an entire year to find out. Not now.

Not when they've come this far already.

_Don't worry Newt. I'll find you. Just you wait._

11.05.18  
2:13pm  
tuesday.

If Newt wasn't having the time of his life before, he sure as hell is now.

He's screaming 'Thomas' at the top of his lungs on the sofa, jumping up and down and in circles, throwing his head up and down, shaking his hair. He's changed back into his pajamas and fluffy socks,  his blankie being waved around in his left hand and his fruit juice in the other, straw dripping with left over liquid. He's tucked the bottom of his checkered pajama bottoms into his socks and his jumper over his t-shirt is too large on him, but it's warm and he likes it.

He found an old radio, an Ed Sheeran CD, and he's blaring it as loud as possible. He doesn't know the lyrics, but he knows his soulmates name and that's one hundred times better than any song lyric, so he screams that instead.

He's breathless and panting but he's got the brightest smile stretching across his face and fuck he is _so_ happy it's a miracle someone he doesn't even know the appearance of can make him feel so _carefree_.

Once he can't jump anymore he falls back onto the sofa, engulfed by the cushions as he tries to catch his breath. Richard and Tasha won't be home until late this evening, so he's got the whole day to fool around and dance and sing and shout until his throat hurts.

Alby will probably call over after school, and then they can talk about things that Newt can't talk about with anyone else and discuss soulmates and have more junk food just because he can.

The CD stops and Newt closes his eyes, snuggling into the sofa. He lets out a sigh and sinks in to the cushions, swallowed in warmth. He's been relatively happy all day - but now that he's calmed down and exhausted with a full stomach all the memories come flooding back - the bad ones, the ones he wants to _go away_.

It's Richard. Richard hurts him. Richard hurts him in ways that he can't talk about and in ways he can't _ever_ tell anybody because if he does - if he does, everything will just go so horribly _wrong_ and Newt isn't sure if he can handle anymore disasters. He's not sure if he can handle anymore nights of being stripped and used like a toy - he's not sure he can handle the sounds of a belt buckle being undone and he sure as _hell_ can't handle the fucking ache in his legs.

He can't. He really can't.

 _For fucks sake_ he thinks, because he's just ruined his entire mood and now he feels as miserable as always. The kitchen is clean and any signs of the food he's eaten has been disposed and hidden away, and he's suddenly so tired and drained and he's annoyed because he still has so much left to do -

He'll nap. That's what he'll do.

He can take a quick nap and regain his energy and then he can make himself a proper meal for dinner for once, then he can go up to his bedroom and fall asleep so when Richard and mum come home they won't bother him. Great. That's a plan.

But the second his eyes close he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He opens them with suspicion and sits up on the sofa, leaning across to get a better view out the window.

 _Fuck_.

It's Richards car, and him and mum are parked and exiting the car, chattering along together as they walk up the driveway. They’re home early. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit.

Newt trips over himself jumping off the sofa, scrambling to fix the cushions as he races out of the room, panicking because did he clear up the mess in the kitchen? Did he clear away every single crumb? Is there any trace of him ransacking the kitchen? _Of course there fucking is it's not even three o clock yet and he's not at school -_

The door jiggles, and Newt sucks in a breath as he watches the knob turn. He's standing dumbly in the middle of the hallway, not knowing what to do or where to go. He bites his lip as he comes face to face with his stepfather, _wishing_ that he could turn back time and move _fucking quicker._

"Newt?" Richard says, in surprise, before his face twists into one of anger. His mum steps in from behind him, then, and together, they both stare at Newt with confusion. Richard clenches his fists, gritting his teeth. "The hell you doing home? You're supposed to be in school."

Newt swallows dryly, opening his mouth to try find the right words, but he can't figure out what to say and he takes a step backwards, whatever mischief or rebellious feeling in him gone. He can already feel his hands start to tremble because he doesn't want to be hurt tonight please just _one_ night of _peace_ -

"I asked you a fucking question. _Why are you home_?" Richard repeats himself, as calmly as possible. He's getting riled up and Newt wants to find a corner and hide in it, desperately trying to catch his mums gaze to silently beg for any kind of mercy.

"I-I felt sick."

"You felt sick?"

No, he hid behind the house in the bush in the back garden until they both left but obviously he wasn't gonna tell them _that_.

"Yeah, I-I came home early. From school."

Richard grits his teeth harder, taking a step forward. Mum takes one too, as a warning to her second husband. He doesn't listen, either way, and shoves Newts shoulder harshly.

"Don't lie, you _filthy_ brat! We both know you fucking stayed off school - how _dare_ you!"

And that's when it all goes to complete and utter shit.

Newt's thrown against the wall, and he feels a crack in the back of his skull. His ears are ringing and he can hear his mum screaming, begging for Richard to stop, but like always, he shows no fucking sympathy and kicks Newt in the stomach, who doubles over with a gasp of pain.

Newt clutches his stomach, his head spinning, before he feels a fistful of hair being yanked upwards and then there's a hand across his cheek, another punching his stomach, legs thumping his side. Blood begins to trickle down his nose and he starts to cry, trying to cover his face with his hands.

"S-s-stop please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry - s-stop I'm sorry -"

He's on the floor, curled up in some sort of self defense, but he can feel boots against his hip and at the back of his head, repeatedly kicking him as hard as they can. His mum is screaming louder, because Richard has suddenly pulled him up as roughly as possible and slammed him back into the wall, wrapping his calloused hands around Newts pale, fragile neck, squeezing.

Choking and trying to get air, Newt scratches as harshly as he can at Richards face, panicking at the lack of oxygen, his throat closing and Richards hands tight and terrifying. Richard curses before releasing him, wiping at his face. It's not long, but Richards sudden stop has given Newt the time to fucking _sprint_.

He wriggles under his stepfather and trips a little, he feels hands trying to grasp his wrist but he pulls away rapidly and throws open the front door as fast as he can, sprinting down the driveway. His limp, of course, slows him down, but he doesn't stop. He runs and runs and runs and runs. He runs until his throat feels on fire and his lungs may as well collapse. He runs until his bad leg gives out on him and sweat is pooling on his forehead. He runs until he's red in the face and curled up on the ground, face pressed against the cold tarmac.

It's three o clock in the afternoon, and Newt is lying in the middle of some pavement, in his pajamas and fluffy socks, his blankie tucked safely into the pocket of his checkered pajama bottoms. _Thank God._

He curls up tighter. Theres no one around. There's just fields and greenery and houses are in view, but far enough. Far enough for him to see them but for them not to see him. It's not cold. It's warm, actually, but he's shivering anyways because he's never been so terrified in his life.

There's a few things in his pajama pocket. A pen that has ink spilt all over the tip, his blankie, a gum wrapper and a lollipop stick. There's nothing in his jumper pockets, but he's grateful for the clothing anyway. Makes him feel secure, even if it's a little bit.

He can't go home. Not now. He's not sure what Richard would do to him, but the thought of going back makes him feel physically sick. There's no way in _hell_ he's going back to that monster.

He's got nowhere to go, nowhere to sleep. He's by all means not hungry, but he needs shelter and food and he's fucking terrified because he's out on the streets with no belongings, no clothes, no nothing.

All Newts got is himself, his blankie, a pen, and a soulmate called Thomas that lives God knows where in the world. Not much, but good enough, for him.

He has no idea why, because Thomas could be anywhere doing anything and really isn't much help, but he pulls out the pen anyways, sitting up and leaning his back against a fence, pulling his knees to his chest as the wind blows the grass softly beside him.

His hands are shaking (when are they not?) as he finds space on his palm where he can write something small, almost invisible, but still there. Still important.

 _Help_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this chapter is a mess i’m so sorry i have no idea what i did i swear i planned this better in my head but -
> 
> i’m so sorry i know it’s probably so slow moving and stuff but i promise after this things are gonna pick up soon (yes thomas will eventually cop onto what’s going on in newts life lmao)
> 
> anyways it’s summer now and i’m an unsocial bellend so expect some chapters coming up cos i’m hella excited for all the shit coming up sjsjsj
> 
> thanks so much for reading and leave a lil like and comment if you enjoyed cos i love those :)
> 
> \- bee


	7. vii.

12.05.18  
10:51pm  
wednesday.

To say that Thomas is freaking out would be an understatement.

Thomas isn't just freaking out - he's going out of his _fucking_ mind, his stress levels have never been so high and his heart has never raced as fast as it is now. He's never been this damn stressed and he has no idea how to handle it.

Somethings up with Newt. Something wrong, and he has no clue what it is and it's infuriating because he has no idea what to do. He can't ask for help because of all the fucking laws in this world - he can't ask Newt to tell him where he lives (even if he's pretty sure it's in England) because what are the odds he can get to him?

Thomas is on a thin line here and he's terrified it's gonna snap. First, it's the **_disgusting_** message, then it's all the random smileys (but they were cute, he has to admit) and then, out of freaking nowhere, _help_ is inked onto his palm. Honestly, what the fuck?

He's been off all day. He can't focus on anything but Newt because he has no clue what's going on and why he needs help and what's happening and _fuck_ he needs to be _with_ him, not at school. Not in the middle of English class. Not so far away from him.

He needs to make sure Newts okay because he's crying for help and Thomas hates himself because he can't do anything. He feels useless and he wishes that he could kick himself just this once, because he thinks he's an absolute waste of space and _shit_ Newt deserves a better soulmate.

He's been in a mood all day because he's scared. He's so _damn_ scared. He's the type of person just to assume the worst - but this isn't something to be taken lightly. Not when it comes to your soulmate asking for help. That's serious. It's freaking terrifying and Thomas is so damn mad because WCKD has fucked his chances of getting to Newt, especially when he needs Thomas most.

The bell rings, and Thomas literally bolts out of the classroom, still shoving his belongings into his bag as he runs out the door. He's struggling zipping up his bag running down the hallway and he looks absolutely insane, but he doesn't care. The library is where he needs to be right now because he can't think properly with all these irritating students. He's got a free period now anyways, so he has time.

He texts Minho and Teresa to meet him there ASAP because he's plotting things once again and he's back on his bullshit. (But thats gotta be expected at this stage, right?) He doesn't wanna fuck up his life or Newts any more than it already seems to be, but right now, his priority is getting _to_ Newt, and if he has to twist the rules a bit then so what? There has to be some way he can get to him.

He's found an old corner at the very end of the library when he gets an OK from Minho, so he sits himself comfortably on the floor, his back leaning against the high arched bookshelves. The shelves and books are caked with dust, they reek of age and mystery and Thomas blows gently on them, watching as the clouds of dust evaporate in the air.

He crosses his legs and waits for his best friends to join him. He knows they'll find thin here - he's only ever gone to the library to discuss things he doesn't want other people to hear. See? Thomas isn't all much of a goody-two-shoes. He can play games, too.

But this isn't a game anymore. It's not the funny penis drawings and the quirky, secretive ways of revealing yourself. It's not the easy riddles and the inside jokes. It's not odd clues or the heart racing messages. It's _real_ , now. It's all become so scarily realistic Thomas wonders how he never took it seriously until now.

It's crazy how quickly his life has turned upside down, if he's honest. He's managed to save himself for now, but he's broken so many laws and faced so many _fuck I'm caught_ moments, it's a wonder how his heart hasn't collapsed on him yet. He's learnt so much about WCKDs cruelty towards people and travelled to secret stores and found out things about his soulmate that he's not _supposed_ to know and although it's exciting and amazing and brilliant - it's scary, too.

It's all happening so fast, Thomas' head is spinning. He's seen and experienced and learnt so many things in the past week than he has his whole life and it's honestly a little overwhelming, but he wouldn't change a single thing. Not now, not ever.

He's maturing, maybe. This is life. This is growing up. He's slowly becoming the person he's always wanted to be, and if that's breaking the laws to potentially save the life of the person he was born to love, then so be it. Newt is who he's destined to spend the rest of his life with, and if he finds him sooner than later then that's okay. It's okay. Because Newt isn't okay and God, Thomas needs him to be.

Thomas has been to incredible places like Wildwood and he's learning from everyone around him and discovering things about himself he had no idea existed, and even if it feels like so much has happened, his journey is only getting started.

He's nervous, excited, maybe a little cautious. He doesn't know exactly how to feel or what to expect, but he knows one thing, for sure. He's going to find Newt. He's not waiting a year. He's not waiting anymore - he's waited his entire life and now his soulmate needs his help and who is he to stand by and watch him suffer?

Newt needs him, and maybe, just maybe, he needs Newt too.

12.05.18  
5:52am  
tuesday.

Sleeping in the middle of a field isn't exactly your ideal bed, but for Newt, for whatever reason, it's ok.

Sleeping curled up on long grass and crumpled flowers and lots of insects is somehow going decent, if you can call it that. It's peaceful, anyways. The air is fresh and warm and summery - it is May, after all. It's quiet, which is all Newt can really ask for. It's quite cold, considering it's still England, but his fluffy socks hug his toes and his pajamas are warm, his jumper feels extra big and swallows him snugly. His blankie lingers under his nose and for some reason he smiles a little.

There's a lingering fear in the back of his skull that Richard is going to come out of nowhere and hurt him like he always does - but it's not as intense as it is when he laid in bed, trembling and crying with snot running down his nose, spit dribbling down his chin.

His mouth feels kind of gross because he hasn't brushed his teeth and his breath holds the aftertaste of a mix of everything he ate yesterday. He's kind of glad he had an okay day - actually, scratch that, his day was going perfect until Richard and mum came home early and screwed it all up.

Of course, that's what they always do. Always have, always will.

It's summer, so the sun is already rising and it's hard to go back to sleep, because it's pretty bright already and there's not many clouds in the sky. Newt doesn't mind. It's nice, watching the sun rise, despite his situation. He's in a mindset where he seems to be forgetting how fucked he actually is, but it's okay. For now. He's allowed to pretend that things are okay and he's simply outdoors watching the day begin because he wants to.

Think happy thoughts, Newt.

He can't go to school, which is good and bad. He's clever, but he's only sixteen. He can't - he can't get a job, he can't live by himself. He's got no clothes or money - he's got nothing.

No, no he's wrong. He has Thomas. Thomas. His soulmate. The one person who has been kind to him since the beginning. The person who's been writing messages on his skin since he knew how to hold a pen. The one who'll play games with him. The one who understands him, the one he asked for help.

Newts not particularly sure why he asked. Thomas could be anywhere in the world (he guesses somewhere in America or something based on his spelling and the way he says 'mom' in some reminders) and Newt hates to admit it but he really isn't much help, as much as he wants him to be.

He's still a little sleepy, but that's when he thinks the most. His thoughts come rushing together like a wave of mixed emotions, spooned around like cereal washed up in his skull, sometimes not making much sense. His eyes are halfway open because the sun really is beautiful and it's the start of a whole new day with a load of new adventures, because at this point he has no idea what to expect anymore and it's a little exciting.

His life is changing. Slowly, but surely. He's been through tough shit that he doesn't think he can ever get over and he can't ever tell a soul, but he wants to live. He's been trapped in this dark hole in constant fear and hunger and vulnerability and he wants freedom. _Real_ freedom. Maybe, if it's not too much to hope, this is it. This is the beginning of his freedom.

He has to find some place to stay. Some homeless shelter, or something. He's got to do something about school, too, because the body checks are the one thing that's kept him going there because if you don't get checked, WCKD will track you down and find you and it's honestly so much fucking _effort_ \- Newts exhausted just thinking about it.

It's almost surreal, to him. Yesterday at this time he was wide awake plotting ways to stay off school and figure out Thomas' clue, now he's in the middle of a field in God knows where, with his soulmates name on his lips, escaping his mouth in secret whispers. His neck is still sore, though, and he's pretty sure it's bruised. His whole body is sore, actually, but his heart feels full in a way. Thomas is out there. Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

Alby is probably shitting himself wondering where the hell Newt is. Or maybe he doesn't care. Maybe he does. Newt doesn't know, he'll find him some day, eventually, and explain everything. He's got that Winston guy, anyways. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay, maybe. If he convinces himself hard enough.

Newts rolling into a better position when he feels something tickling his arm. His heart races almost immediately because the last thing he said to Thomas was help and this is obviously his response, and honestly, he's a little nervous.

Newt slowly sits up, leaning his back against the oak tree that looks like it's from a storybook, old and crooked, leaning over him in a claw like fantasy, protecting him against the wicked world. Or maybe it's just too early and he's desperate for _some_ sort of comfort.

He pulls his knees to his chest and carefully folds up the sleeve of his jumper, and his breath hitches once he reads the message.

_tell me where you are. exactly. i'm coming to find you._

Newt feels the corners of his lips twitching into a smile, and as the sun rises, he picks up his pen.

12.05.18  
11:11am  
tuesday

"I've got a month," Thomas says, eagerly. His voice is low and so is his self esteem, but he pushes both those things to the back of his mind and focuses on the two pairs of wide eyes staring back at him. Teresa and Minho's facial expressions have changed from sympathy, to anger, to pity, to fury, then back to sympathy in the whole ten minutes they've been sitting in the corner of the library.

"A month." Teresa repeats, slowly. She looks indecisive about this whole thing, but for some reason, one that Thomas doesn't know if he should be surprised about or not, Minho looks determined. He listened intently to Thomas' suspicions and he's ready to find Newt just as much as Thomas is.

"The H&B checks aren't for a month. That's four weeks - which is long enough for me to find him. He needs me, guys. I-I'm starting to think I'm all he has."

Teresa bites her lip so hard she immediately stops in fear of drawing blood, and Minho puts his face in his hands, sighing. "Then, we have to help him," he says, in a dark tone that dares someone to say otherwise. "We don't have a choice. If he needs us - he needs us."

"But, we're risking our lives!" Teresa blurts out, suddenly. Her voice isn't loud enough to be heard but Minho still shushes her - they're in a library, after all. "It sounds selfish but I don't want to throw my life away Thomas - it hasn't even started yet."

Thomas nods, anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He's honestly not even surprised, Teresa has been off about this whole thing right from the start. Of course she wouldn't want to help. He doesn't blame her, of course, her reasons are valid and sensible enough. He knows she's scared, she has every right to be, and he knows she just wants to protect him. He just wishes she could put herself in someone else's shoes just for a _second_.

"Thomas would do it for you." Minho says, quietly. He's not looking at either of them. His knees are drawn up to his chest and his elbows are leaning off his kneecaps. He's persistent about helping Newt. Thomas still doesn't know the full story about what happened at the secret store in wildwood, and now is not the time to ask, but he's suddenly grateful Minho is so willing when it comes to Thomas and Newt.

"I know," Teresa replies, a little defensively. She's sat next to Minho, her legs folded beside her. "I'm not disputing that. I'm just saying, you've no idea what's real and not real with Newt. You don't know for sure if you can even trust this guy."

"He's my soulmate." Thomas says, sharply. She's being a little irritating and usually she's so understanding, but Thomas has a feeling she just doesn't like Newt and it annoys him. A lot.

"You'd do it for your soulmate, Teresa. Newt needs my help. I'm not telling you you have to help me, but I can't do it alone. I have to find him."

Teresa catches Thomas gaze, and her eyes soften. She's still cautious and a unsure about the whole thing, but she nods, finally, leaning over to punch Thomas in the shoulder gently. She takes a deep breath, trying to smile. "Okay, fine. You got me. What's the plan?"

Minho lets a relieved smile stretch across his face and he bumps her shoulder with his own, gratefully.

Thomas grins.

"Like I said, I've got a month. One month to find Newt, find out what the fuck is going on, save ourselves from WCKD, help Newt sort his life out, and do so without getting caught."

"That's, great." Minho says, weakly. Teresa giggles beside him and Thomas lets out a small chuckle of his own. "It's, risky, I know," he says, opening up his schoolbag to grab his pencil case. Just as he's about to write the first step to his plan, he looks back up to his friends. "But it's risks I have to take. Are you guys sure you want to get involved in this? If it goes wrong.."

Thomas trails off, staring at the pen. Teresa and Minho share a look, before nodding simultaneously. They've been a trio for years. They've been to secret stores and faced H&B checks with anxiousness in the pits of their stomachs and have told stories of their soulmates together for as long as they can remember. They're not about to back out now. Not when Thomas and Newt need them most.

Minho leans over to ruffle Thomas' hair, flashing him a cheeky grin, determination in his eyes as he cracks his knuckles, preparing himself. "Don't worry Thomas," he says, winking at Teresa.

"We're in."

Thomas' smile is wide and holds something like a little relief - he's truly got the best friends anyone could ever ask for. "Thank you." He says, because he doesn't know what else to say - he's not sure if he can find the right words to express his gratitude - but Teresa and Minho seem to understand, anyway.

"I've got a month. I have to make it count," Thomas starts, pulling out a refill pad from his bag. Flipping it open, he clicks the pen in his hand, raising his eyebrows at his friends for suggestions.

"You need to know where he lives," Minho starts, shifting his position to sit closer to Thomas. "There's no point in being subtle anymore. Once you find Newt, there's no going back."

Thomas bites his lip. WCKDs systems can't monitor every single thing everyone says - but when this month is up, his life could be ruined. He could be throwing away his entire future just with the simple click of a pen.

But the risks are worth it. Newt, is worth it. His whole life is going to change, but it's going to be for the good. That's what really matters. His future _is_ Newt, and he's not about to wait a year knowing his soulmate is in danger.

"We've got to figure out a plan to get to Newt without WCKD knowing," Teresa says, firmly. She's rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie and she, too, has a look of determination on her face. "Subtle or not, one month is still only four weeks and once we find Newt and help him - what's next? Think of the consequences. Before we do anything, we have to have backup plans, and we need to be smart. WCKD always has a way of knowing things."

Minho nods, agreeing with her. "T's right, Thomas. I don't know for sure, but Ferdinand might know something. He's pretty educated on this stuff, after all."

Thomas hums in reply, writing down a few things on paper. Teresa and Minho are right - they have to be clever about this. What's the point in helping Newt if they get caught before they do anything?

"There's gotta be a way we can get ourselves off the systems. Like, erasing us from WCKD," Thomas murmurs, more so to himself. He's thinking out loud without much of a brain-to-mouth filter, but still somehow makes sense.

"When babies are born, they're given a chip, right?" Teresa says, her eyes lighting up with sudden realisation. "They're given a WCKD chip, which matches up with their soulmate across the world. That chip controls the monitoring of them communicating, right? So if we can somehow disconnect our chips - or even go as far to remove them, then what you say to Newt and vice versa can't be traced."

 _Damn_ , Thomas almost always forgets how smart Teresa really is.

Minho leans back onto his elbows, humming in thought. "They're in the back of our necks. I've heard stories from people who've tried to get them illegally surgically removed, but, I don't know if it's the wiring or what - WCKD seems to get notified or something if people try to damage or remove the chip."

Thomas wants slams his head into the wall. Of fucking course - WCKD is on top of everything. There's no way they can get those chips removed without alerting the systems and getting thrown in jail anyways, then they'd _never_ find Newt.

Teresa shakes her head, a stubborn look on her face. "There's got to be a way. For goodness sakes, there's a _lotion_ that can erase the conversations between soulmates that actually _works_ \- and now you're telling me we can't remove the chips without WCKD finding out? _Bullshit_. We can do anything if we set our minds to it."

Thomas, once again, is eternally grateful for Teresa's positive attitude. It's incredible, really. His friends will go as far to remove chips implanted into their necks just for him - he's lucky to have them. Really, really fucking lucky.

"I'm with T," Minho says, grinning. He nudges her with a playful smile, and although his eyes are soft and crinkly and shining with excitement, they've got a sharp edge to them that twinkles with determination. They've gotten past WCKD before - what's to stop them now?

"Actually, I just remembered - Ferdinand mentioned something to me a long time ago about someone who managed to dismantle the chip temporarily, or something - without WCKD finding out. If we can do something like that, that'll buy us time to figure out where Newt is." Minho tells them, rubbing the back of his neck.

Teresa nods, pressing her lips together. "That could work." She says, watching Thomas scribble down everything they're saying. "We could use that in case we run out of time. When the H&B checks come round next month, we'll be off the systems." She places her hand on the back of her neck, rubbing softly. She wants it to work. So bad.

She needs it to work. They all do.

"Right," Thomas states, flipping the refill pad closed. He fiddles with the pen in his hand, "I need to find out where Newt is. I'm assuming he's British - and if he is, how the fuck are we gonna get to England?"

Teresa drops her hand and shrugs with a sheepish look. "Didn't think about that," she admits, rubbing her arm softly. Minho frowns, before letting out a small sigh. "Listen, if we're talking dismantling chips implanted into our necks at birth, I'm pretty sure we can figure out a way to get to another country. Y'know, _legally_."

Thomas snorts and that and Teresa breaks into a smile. "Fucks sake, man." Thomas says, before thinking _to hell with it_ and lining up his pen with his arm, clicking it distinctively for a little dramatic effect.

Teresa rolls her eyes with a fond smile, nodding at him to continue.

 _It's now or never_.

 _tell me where you are_ he starts, delicately. He doesn't bother sugarcoating his words or making an effort to disguise his intentions. He can get away with this, if he really tries. It's not a game anymore. Thomas isn't sure it ever has been.

Pausing for a moment to think, he continues and finishes his sentence. _exactly. i'm coming to find you._

His heart rate has picked up again once he's finished; he honestly has no idea how the hell he hasn't died of a heart attack at this point. Everything when it comes to Newt has him _shitting_ his pants.

"Okay, done," he says, holding out his arm to show to Teresa and Minho. "What next?"

"We wait." Minho says, and the three of them sit in silence, surrounded by books and chandeliers and arching shelves and high windows with the sun peaking in. Thomas pulls out a random book, flips it open, and starts to read.

_Wait indeed._

  
12.05.18  
6:03am  
tuesday.

Newt has never been so indecisive when telling something to Thomas before.

Seriously. Usually he's the first to indicate something, in fact, Thomas almost never says anything that could get him into trouble. It's a wonder how Newt managed to get him to reveal everything they know about each other. Newt did draw the penis, after all.

It seems so long ago. Not much has happened, despite he fact he somehow miraculously managed to get through the H&B checks without getting sent to prison, he ran away from his house because he can't stay there and just take it anymore, and Thomas is going to fucking find him. Thomas - Thomas wants to come here. He wants to help - Newt almost cries all over again.

He's been holding the pen in his hand for like, six minutes. What the fuck is he supposed to say? _i live in england and i have no idea how you're supposed to get here and i have no idea what you're supposed to do if you get here and also i don't have a current address as i just ran the fuck away from home because my step dad constantly sexually and physically abuses me and my mum has no clue but -_

No. No. He can't say that. None of that, in fact. Maybe he should just write back and say it's all fine and he doesn't really need help? That he was just overreacting or something? Yeah, that's a better plan.

But he _wants_ Thomas. He wants to see Thomas. He wants to hug him, to find out what he looks like. This is his chance. This is his opportunity to finally find his soulmate. Or more so, for his soulmate to find him.

He won't have to wait anymore, and if Thomas is willing to come all the way here and get him the hell away from his past - then he wants it. He wants it so bad.

But what about WCKD? What about the H&B checks? They'll get sent to prison, surely? Then they'll never get to grow old together and all of this is worthless.

Almost as if on cue, Newt feels his arm itch again. It tickles, more so. Thomas is gentle with his pen. He waits for it to stop before checking the fresh words inked on his arm, smiling fondly when he sees what's there.

_don't worry about wckd, i've got a plan._

Well, shit. Ain't his Thomas a smart one?

What plan, though? Maybe he's the reason neither of them got caught. Fucks sake, Thomas really owes Newt an explanation. Maybe, though, he can get one. If Thomas travels to England then maybe - maybe he can finally figure out what the _hell_ is going on.

Newt hesitates for a moment, debating on what to say. It ends up being a _fuck it_ moment, and he grips his arm tightly, scribbling down somewhat of an address before he can change his mind.

_england. southwark, london._

It's there, big and bold on his arm. There's no going back now. He's done it - It's not much, but hopefully, it's enough.

_Come find me, Thomas._

_And please, hurry._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i’ve no idea what the fuck this entire chapter is this whole fanfic is a disaster and who knows what i’m doing but-
> 
> so anYwayS i felt bad for leaving it on a cliffhanger so here !! an early update !!  
> i’ve actually decided to fuck it and just updated whenever the hell i want so if y’all get 4 updates a week and then i’m gone for 2 i’m very sorry ok
> 
> i love you all and thank you so much for reading and as always, leave a l&c if u enjoyed cos those rly make me happy :))
> 
> see ya next time !!
> 
> \- bee


	8. viii.

13.05.18  
5:08pm  
tuesday.

It's hot and humid outside, the sun sizzles his skin and the breeze tests his patience. Thomas grabs a candle holder and slams it down on the papers that are flying messily across the glass table on his patio, gritting his teeth.

Minho fumbles with the red garden parasol, twisting the knob this way and that, until eventually he manages to set the umbrella in place, shading away the sun and giving the rest of them some sort of heat relief.

Teresa is lounging on Thomas' hammock, swinging lazily with sunglasses perched on her nose. A book is draped across her chest and her eyes are closed. From where he's sat, Thomas can see a burn starting to form on her neck.

"T, d'you have sunscreen on?" Thomas calls over, tapping his pen against the table. Teresa mumbles in response, waving her arm with a 'go worry about Newt' before flopping lifelessly back into her headspace.

Minho snorts, pulling out a chair and sitting himself neatly next to Thomas. The pair of them are shifting between homework, study, complaining about the sun, getting burnt alive by the sun, and the 'save Newt mission' (at least, that's what Thomas calls it.)

"What do you know so far again?" Minho asks, sipping on a lemonade Thomas' mom made. Classic, hot weather, ice cold lemonade (what Thomas would do without his mom, he doesn't know). "About Newt, I mean." Minho adds, once he's swallowed.

Thomas hums in thought, opening the refill pad, flicking through the pages until he finds the right one. It's labeled ' **N E W T** ' and contains all sorts of resourceful information, that Thomas feels might add to whatever clues there are, if any.

"Not much, really," Thomas admits, wistfully, eyes flickering down the spacey page. "He's British, he's left handed, he's obviously in school. He's left some pretty weird shit on his arms and legs - I told you about the disgusting thing, right? Yeah - I did. He seems pretty spunky. I mean - I actually - I don't know anything about him."

"Time to ask, then," Minho declares, snatching the refill pad out of Thomas' hands, turning to him with a wide smirk. "Ask his age. Ask what colour hair he has. Ask what he looks like, for fucks sake. You'll obviously need to know if we're gonna be looking for him. T and I are figuring out a way to dismantle ourselves from the WCKD systems, so you focus on Newt."

Well, it's not that Thomas wasn't planning on asking Newt what he looks like - he's bound to know, eventually. Just not so soon.

Sighing anyways, he rolls up his sleeves and almost groans at the fact there's almost nowhere left to write. His hand is almost completely covered with the freaking smileys, and his forearm is taken up with all the questions he asked Newt yesterday.

Restlessly, he grabs at a tissue that's in a packet on the table, using his water bottle to wet it before rubbing it on his arm, feebly attempting  to wipe away yesterday's conversation. He's got everything Newt and him have said written down anyways - from the penis drawing until today. All the clues, all the hints, it's all recorded. Even Newts ridiculous drawings.

That makes him smile.

Once his arm seems relatively clean enough, he gently presses down with his pen, asking the basic questions first. He tries to go easy, instead of overwhelming him. After all, hows Newt to know he can be trusted? Newt has no idea about him, either. Obviously, it's to be expected to trust your soulmate because you're literally soulmates - but Thomas could be a serial killer, for fucks sake.

_hey, buddy. how old are you? can you describe what you look like? we're trying to figure out a way to get to you, but we need to know how you look :)_

He adds the smiley for extra measure, hoping it makes the sentence seem a little less stalkerish. It hits him only after he's written that what he's said seems creepy as hell, and he groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Minho laughs out loud at him, spitting out something like 'dumbass' in between. It's a wonder Teresa hasn't arisen from her nap to see what all the commotion is about. She's missing out, after all.

It's five, now, so it must be around ten am for Newt, so he must be in school. Good enough for Thomas - he'll be paying attention to the tickling, so he should get a reply soon enough, if he's correct.

Thomas has also picked up on his soulmates weird sleeping habits - Newt was writing to him at _six o clock in the morning_ yesterday - does he not sleep? At all? Has it got something to do with the fact he needs help?

Thomas finds himself worrying about Newt all over again. He's written down the times Newt seems to reply to him - and he's concerned. Newt should be asleep when Thomas writes to him, but for some reason he's almost _always_ awake in the middle of the night. Thomas, because his curiosity gets the better of him, can't help but wonder why. What keeps him up so late at night?

Thomas almost jumps when he feels an itch on his arm, smiling when he realises what it is. It's just Newt, writing back. It's so familiar yet strange at the same time - yet now, considering their current situation, Newt writing to him feels a lot more serious and real, almost nostalgic.

Minho catches on quickly and closes his textbook, leaning over to glimpse at Thomas' arm, waiting for the sentence to form too. Thomas rolls his right sleeve up further, shifting his arm closer towards Minho so he can see Newts response clearer.

_blonde messy hair. brown eyes. kind of - actually very short. skinny. really pale. baby face :( 16. almost 17!!_

Thomas has no idea why he finds that particular sentence so fucking endearing - but he does, and he laughs joyfully reading it. He feels almost giddy. He always laughs at Newts replies, but this one for some reason seems to take the cake.

Minho laughs as well, covering his mouth with his hand to muffle his chuckles. "I won't lie, Thomas," he grins, between laughs. "He seems kinda cute. Kiddish."

 _He sure fucking does_. Thomas thinks, smiling wider, now. Baby face? Blonde hair? Brown eyes? Short? Damn, if Newt looks anything like how Thomas imagines him, he's sure as hell happy to have him. "He's only sixteen," Thomas points out then, frowning a little bit. "I'm eighteen in literally a few weeks after the next body check. He's way behind us."

Minho scrunches up his nose. "So, even if the whole dismantling thing works and we manage to somehow get away with all this, you still have to wait like, a year and a half before you can 'officially' meet him with no laws in the way. That - that really sucks man."

"We should have done the whole dismantling thing first," Thomas sighs out, dropping his arm onto his lap. "What if it doesn't work? I literally just got Newts appearance - if this fucks up there's no way my ass is getting a future."

"Relax, Thomas. This will work. I promise," Minho says, softly. He points at Thomas' arm, who hasn't even realised the tickling sensation. "He's writing more. Look!"

_what do you look like !! how old are you !!_

Maybe it's the exclamation marks, but Thomas finds himself all mushy once again reading Newts words. Maybe it's because he knows he's younger, shorter and youthful looking, but he's finding Newt a lot more adorable suddenly, and he smirks as he starts to write back.

_brown hair, brown eyes (jinx!) kinda tall, pretty average in weight. i'm 18 next month :)_

He hopes the age doesn't throw Newt off as much as his threw him off. He wasn't expecting him to be so young - despite the 'almost 17!!' Thomas can't get over how Newt is only _sixteen_ years old - it makes the whole 'save Newt mission' seem a lot more relevant.

_oh. that's cool. sorry for my age. :/_

Thomas watches carefully as the words are etched onto his skin, and he frowns when he sees them. He doesn't want Newt to apologise already - for fucks sake, the kid already seems to be going through enough. Minho is still steaming glances over his shoulder, but Thomas doesn't make an effort to let him see clearer, this time.

_no don't apologise! i'm coming to find you anyways. what exactly do you need help for? (you don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable)_

Thomas writes as small as possible, already searching for places on his legs where he can continue the conversation. He doesn't want to push it with Newt, but he needs to know how serious it is before he somehow manages to book a flight to fucking _England_.

_i had to run away from home. that's all i can say now, i'd prefer to tell you in person. if that's okay._

Thomas closes his eyes once he reads the fresh words, tightly written closely together, small and scrawny. Run away from home? Where the hell is he now? Is he staying at a friends house? A relatives? If Newt is sleeping on the streets God forbid -

He doesn't know what to do. He needs to say something - anything. Yet, he doesn't want to pry, either. He feels like he's gotten the most he's going to get out of Newt, for now at least. He rereads the newly scrawled sentence, stretched around his elbow. Frowning, he leans back in his chair, trying to conjure up something appropriate to respond to that.

Newt seems a little uncomfortable, honestly. Thomas doesn't want to scare him away. He doesn't want to push his luck, but the fact alone that Newt doesn't seem to have anyone else scares him. If Newt is relying on his soulmate (which he's almost two years behind legal requirements to actually meet him) then things must be bad. Very bad.

Newt clearly hasn't got a lot of reliable people in his life, and that alone makes Thomas grit his teeth. He knows a lot more about the British boy, but somehow not enough. It seems almost selfish to want more information - but he can't help it. Where is Newt now? Why did he run away from home? How come he doesn't seem to have anyone trustworthy enough to turn to?

"Hey, Thomas," Minho calls, loudly, waving a hand in front of Thomas' face. Thomas blinks suddenly, drawn back into reality. "You spaced out for a while there," Minho tells him, a look of concern on his face. "You alright?"

"I-I think so." Is the only thing he can seem to say. He feels a lot more determined, suddenly. He needs to get to Newt. Fast. No ifs, what's, maybes, or buts about it. They've got to do this. He needs them.

"Newt ran away from home," Thomas says, aloud. He's half hoping Teresa can hear them, but she's dozed off, the hammock swinging softly. Minho's eyebrows draw together in confusion, yet worry. "What? Why? What shankass parents does he have to make him run away?"

Thomas doesn't know, but he clenches his fists at the thought of Newts parents hurting him. "No idea," he replies, bitterly. "All I know is that right now he needs us, and we have to help."

"No kidding." Minho breathes, gaze drawn to Thomas' fist. "Relax, man. We're gonna find Newt, and we're gonna help him. Okay?"

"Yeah," Thomas sighs, tracing Newts writing. "Yeah. For sure."

_Hang in there Newt. We're coming._

13.05.18  
10:13am  
tuesday.

It's surprisingly warm today, Newt finds. Considering it's England, after all. The sun licks delicately at his pale skin, not too hot, yet not cold, either. There's a slight breeze that whistles through the air, ruffling his hair gently.

It's still early morning, and Newt hasn't done much except skinny dip in a lake close by. He calls it his 'nature shower' because he is outside , after all. Birds are chirping loudly among the treetops, flying in blue skies. He's dry now, after a long, somewhat freeing splash about in the lake. It wasn't dirty, but not exactly the cleanest either.

It was enough.

Now, he's sat curled up on one of the branches of the oak tree, one leg dangling down as the other knee is pulled to his chest. Thomas hasn't responded to his last reply, which doesn't worry him, honestly. The brunette probably doesn't know what to say.

_Brunette. Brown eyes._

Newt loves how he can try imagine what Thomas looks like. Sure, it's not exactly specific, which is what he loves. He can create millions of images to suit Thomas' description of his appearance. It only makes it all the more fun.

He's a little worried, though. Thomas is coming here. To find him. How the hell is he going to get that past WCKD? There's no way they can pull this off without being caught - but Thomas said he had a plan, and Newt trusts him.

Sighing, Newt drops his arm, letting it dangle lazily amongst his leg, head leaned back against the tree bark. He closes his eyes, for a brief moment of bliss. The sun flecks his skin through the leaves, leaving golden freckles across his cheeks. He's relaxed, yet his brain is wired, alert and conscious. It's like his body is shutting down but his brain is wildfire.

He's hungry. Very, in fact. He overate like hell yesterday, but his stomach clearly can't contain his hunger because all too soon it's rumbling again, and he panics because what the fuck is he supposed to do? Go to Alby's? No, he's at school. Go back home and try sneak food? Nah, too risky. Too far.

Steal? Maybe -

No. No he can't steal. He mustn't. He's good - he's a good kid. He's come this far and he doesn't want to go this low - not now. Stealing is _wrong_ \- but, so are a lot of things. So is revealing your entire identity to your soulmate. So is telling them your address, your appearance. Newts broken the law already - surely it's not too bad to break another one?

He's getting a little desperate. All he needs is something small, to keep him going. Maybe if he finds 50p to buy a packet of biscuits, then he's good to go. Water. He needs water too. A £1 bottle of water. Then he's okay, for now. That's all he needs.

He slowly brings to climb down the tree steadily, eyes wide with ambitions to keep himself from falling. One foot, one hand, other foot, other hand - soon enough he's jumping and landing with a soft thump onto the grass. Rubbing his hands against his pyjamas, it's only then Newt realises he hasn't even got proper _clothes_.

"Shit," he says then, aloud, because who's around to hear him? He's in broad daylight with pyjamas on, there's no way he can waltz into some supermarket and buy - or steal - some food without looking sketchy right from the start.

There's no way he can do this. But what choice does he have? There's nothing else he can do. He can't wait around for Thomas to come save him - as much as he'd like to, Thomas isn't going to appear from thin air and make everything okay again. It'll be days, weeks even, before he could get a flight to England. It's not exactly cheap to fly across the world.

Newt is climbing over a chapped, dodgy looking wooden fence when he starts to feel sick. Not fever or flu sick - nervous sick. His stomach is tied in knots and his heart begins to thump uncontrollably fast.

Once he's over the fence he crouches in front of it, squeezing his eyes shut and willing for his chest to loosen - his throat is clogged and he can't breathe - Richards going to find him and hurt him like always and his legs are going to be sore and he's going to feel even more disgusting than he already does -

He's beginning to hyperventilate at this point, skull burning with a crushing headache and eyes fighting the acids threatening to pour down his face (but they're already falling). His whole body is trembling and he fists his fingers in the grass to try reconnect with reality.

He drops his head in between his knees, crying out loudly because no one is around to hear him. No one is around to help - but why would they help anyways? No one has ever helped him properly before - no one except _Thomas_.

Newt's fumbling with the pen in his pocket faster than he can open his eyes, throwing his head up and pushing his jumper sleeve as fast as he can. He's starting to choke on his tears.

He jabs the pen into his right arm, the writing small and shaky, messy. He's drawn back into normality for a moment when he hopes Thomas can actually read his writing. Once he's written what he needed he curls into his side on the grass, pulling his knees to his chest as he desperately tries to stop shaking.

_can t b re at h e_

His arm tingles only a few seconds later, and he slowly lifts his left arm towards himself, shakily tugging down the sleeve to examine what Thomas has written. For a second Newt feels bad - he probably scared the shit out of him.

_slow breaths, newt. in and out. you can do it. i'm right here. think of your 5 senses. what can you hear? smell? see? feel? taste?_

Newt tilts his head to the side, curiously. Tears and snot are dripping onto his lip and he wipes them away, sitting up. He sniffs loudly, rubbing his eyes a little roughly before trying to focus. His heart rate still hasn't settled and his breathing isn't even - so he tries.

What can he hear? Birds. Birds chirping in the sky. Faint traffic in the far, far distance. Wind whistling through the trees. What can he smell? Fresh air. What can he see? He can see grass. Trees. Blue skies. Black ink. What can he feel? The forest green grass tickling between his finger tips. Blankie in his pocket. What can he taste? Lingering food between his teeth from yesterday - cereal, almost.

He lays back down onto the grass with shaky, yet relieved, breaths. His heart isn't beating so rapidly and his chest finally doesn't feel so tight. He closes his eyes to breathe in slowly, taking in the fresh air and the faint scent of hope, tasting the delicious flavour of determination - ambition. His fingers curl around the grass, clasping onto desire, passion.

Newt brings his arm to his lips, pressing a kiss there gently, whispering _thank you_ onto the ink on his arm once he's written those words, letting them get caught by the wind, twirling around in the air before floating breezily into the sky, taking his doubts with them.

He's going to be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but things will be okay.

He stands up, then, stumbling like a baby deer for a second, before gathering himself together and walking slowly, out of the fields. His feet trail across the grass, as he glades through, trying to ignore the fact he's going to make a fool of himself wearing pyjamas in public, but what can he do?

He's walking alongside a small road, with no cars or buildings in sight, only trees and bushes to be seen. It's the way into town, so he takes his time, shuffling as close to the trees as he can. He doesn't want to get hit, but no cars are around, anyways.

Not until a large, white van pulls up beside him, anyways.

Newt doesn't even look, but when he does his stomach drops in a way that it never has before. It's a WCKD van, and Newt tries his fucking hardest not to seem suspicious, but he quickens his walking pace, panicking when he notices the van speed up beside him.

The window rolls down, and Newt bites his lip, slowing to a stop when the vehicle parks almost entirely in front of him, blocking his route. The WCKD employee driving, who's bulky and bald and has a lopsided jaw, leans out the window. He eyes Newt up and down before turning to the guy next to him, eyebrows raised. Probably at the pyjamas.

"Think we got him?" He says, voice gravelly, rough, turning towards the man next to him, who seems shorter, with a beard and an ugly, crooked nose. He glances at Newt, sceptically, before dropping his gaze to his lap, at what appears to be some sort of file. "Yeah," he replies, his voice about eight octaves lower. "That's him."

Newt doesn't have any time to react before the pair of them pin his arms down behind his back, pressing him harshly up against the side of the van. Naturally, his instinct is to fight back, so he does. "What the FUCK!" he yells out, thrashing in their grip, biting down on the hand that tries to cover his mouth.

"Shut up, kid." Baldy grits his teeth, his voice strained as himself and beardy pathetically struggle trying to hold a small teenage kid that weighs 140 pounds. Newt doesn't let on though, kicking and yelling as loud as he can, already exhausted in their clutches.

"Got ya now, kid," beardy grins, twisting his meaty fingers into Newts hair, tugging it roughly as baldy opens the back of the van. Together, they shove Newt in harshly, clearly not giving two shits whether or not they've hurt him. Once they slam the door and Newt hears a distinctive click he throws his head back against the doors, trembling.

Fuck. Fuck, _fuck_.

His breathing quickens again, and like every other time he's managed to find himself in some shitty situation, he rolls up his sleeves. He tries to keep his breathing in control as he pulls the pen out of his pocket, not thinking clearly.

_wicked. they've got me._

He closes his eyes, pulling his knees to his chest again. He can't help but let out some sort of choked sob. He doesn't want to get Thomas hurt, but he hasn't got anyone else, and he's fucking terrified. What's he to expect? What's going to happen? What happened? Why did they take him? What did he _do_?

"Quit cryin' back there," baldy calls, from the front seats. Newt can't see him, but he can sure as hell hear him. "Don't worry about your little buddy across the globe, we're getting him too."

Newt wants to kick himself. No. Not Thomas. Anyone but Thomas. He doesn't deserve to get hurt. He deserves everything - he's the only fucking person that helped Newt and now he's going to to be taken away too. His future is ruined because of Newts selfishness.

Everything is ruined because of Newt. He always manages to fuck everything up - his relationships, friendships. His whole family is fucked because of him - he can't even do the one fucking thing for his soulmate, and now Thomas is going to suffer for Newts actions.

 _I'm a fucking idiot_. Newt thinks, sniffing hard. Thomas is the only person Newt trusts, the only person that was willing to fly across the world just to help him even when he didn't know what was wrong. The person that's always there, ever since he learned to hold a pencil. So far, yet so close. And now his future is ruined and it's all his fault.

As quickly as he can, he rips back his sleeve again, harshly jabbing the pen into his skin, trying to seem as alert as possible. He over lines his words, thickening the letters. Thomas has to move. He has to run. Somehow - just get away. He’s in danger, and Newt has to make sure he knows.

**_run. fucking run. wicked are coming for you too._ **

Then he throws the pen across the van, slumping into himself, letting the silent tears trail down his face. He’s a pathetic mess and he hates himself. If he just didn’t fucking draw that stupid dick then none of this would have happened. If he just waited - that’s all he had to fucking do.

This is bad. Because Thomas isn't safe. Thomas is coming.

And they're going to be together. Very, very soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit hi this is late and terrible my apologies this chapter sucks ass i have no idea how i managed to feck it up this much but here i am whoops.
> 
> anywaysss i hope y’all enjoyed and i promise a new update will be up soon enough (also i might fucking meet thomas on sunday so fingers crossed for me ;)
> 
> i promise it’s gonna get very heated from here and what happened to aris will come around, so will minhos backstory with ferdinand, etc etc.
> 
> enjoy my lovelies and i’ll see ya soon !!
> 
> \- bee


	9. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls read notes at the end sjsjsj

14.05.18  
3:45am  
wednesday.

Things aren't okay.

Actually - scratch that. Things are spiralling and backfiring and absolutely out of _fucking_ control - and Thomas has no idea how to stop it.

He doesn't even know what threw him off firs. Was it the fact that Newt ran away from home? His younger age? His panic attack? His vulnerability? Or maybe, it was the fact that WCKD just so happened to FUCKING capture him -

Yeah - maybe that's it.

Or maybe it's the fact that not only has WCKD taken Newt, they're planning on taking him, too. His whole entire future is destroyed, Newt is in terrible danger and could be seriously hurt, and Thomas can do absolutely fuck all about it.

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. Fucking _excellent_.

So, now he's sat on his bed. He's got his notebook with his ' **N E W T** ' page opened up in front of him, resting his elbows on his crossed knees. He sighs, blowing gently on the dark hair falling across his forehead.

This wasn't supposed to happen. How did they get caught? What the fuck happened? The h&b checks aren't for another month - how did they get caught out already? Was it the new tech his mom told him about? Did they already upgrade the system?

Either way, they've got Newt. _Newt_. Small, young, innocent, yet courageously and fantastically disobedient Newt. And now, they're looking for Thomas, too, and he has no idea how long he's got before they track him down and take him away to WCKD quarters - all he knows is that he's fucked. Again.

He's texted Minho and Teresa - to tell them not to worry about him, of course. He doesn't want them involved - they deserve to have futures. Bright, bold, life changing ones. Thomas doesn't want to take that away from them, just because of his own irresponsible wayward behaviour - never in a million years.

They've done enough for him. As much as they could, but now? He's been caught. Him and Newt have been caught and there's nothing he can do except run. Hide. Run. Freaking anything, as long as he doesn't get captured too. He needs to be free, for the sake of himself and to get Newt the hell out of there.

Step one? No clue.

He's got his rucksack packed, slumped on the floor beside his bed. It's a little sad, really. Should he leave a note for his parents? What should he say? Should he explain everything in the one go, or tell them not to worry and that he'll explain it all later?

Either way, he can't tell his parents where he's going, or how long he'll be gone. Truth is, he doesn't know himself. All he knows is that he's gotta leave - and fast. Before WCKD come find him and it's too late. Newt needs him more than ever, and what use is he if he's locked up in jail?

It's almost 4am, and Thomas is exhausted. He's desperately trying to figure out where to go - what to _do_. He's even more mad at himself because he's too stupid for this shit - there's no way he can sneak into WCKD and grab Newt without getting caught and call it a day. It's downright absurd, if not impossible.

Closing the notebook, Thomas grabs his rucksack and hauls it onto his bed, shoving it inside the bag. It doesn't hold much, just a few clothes and water bottles, along with cookies and other goods he got at the dollar store yesterday. Not much, but enough. At least, he thinks so.

Zipping it up, he sighs again. He's got a blank sheet in front of him, balanced on a history textbook. He can't just disappear. It's not fair on his parents, and they deserve to know the truth. They've been nothing but supportive of him his entire life, and he has no idea how long it'll be before he can return. If he does, that is.

Fiddling with a pen between his fingers, Thomas begins to chew the tip of the biro for a second, before hesitantly beginning to write.

_Hey, mom, dad._

_I cant say much, but I need you to trust me when I tell you i'm safe. Don't call the cops. I cant tell you why just yet, or where i'm going, or how long i'll be, but I really need you guys to trust me. Just this once. I promise i'm safe. I promise i'm okay. I just made a few mistakes, and I've gotta fix them. It's important._

_I'll be home soon. I promise._

_Love, Thomas._

With sorrow in his heart, Thomas carefully folds the letter, before placing it on his pillow. He has no idea what justice it'll do, but it's something, at least. Better than nothing. He just hopes hat it eases their worry, even if it's just a little bit. They trust him, he knows they do.

Pulling on a hoodie (despite the summer heat, New Jersey can still get a little chilly at night) Thomas shrugs the rucksack over his shoulders, adjusting the straps to his own comfort, before pulling the blinds, until they're scrunched at the top of his window.

Opening it, the late night air flows breezily into the room. The stars illuminate the sky in endless freckles, accompanied by the moon in the black canvas of the night. There's a warm, orange glow from the street lamps, the light filtering in through the window.

Breathing in the satisfying sent of summer, Thomas allows the breeze to fill his lungs with pure, fresh air, before he takes one last glance back at his room, swallowing thickly. He closes his eyes for a second, praying to whatever miracle maker listening, that Newt's safe. That he's okay. _Please, please let him be okay._

Shutting the window quietly behind him, Thomas skids carefully down the side of the roof, taking a second to regain his balance. The bag is added weight to his shoulders and he huffs, trying his hardest not to fall. It'd be a pity if he died so soon. Then he'd never make it to England, and he'd never get to meet Newt _anyway_.

Twisting his body, he shimmies on his stomach, slowly inching his body across the edge of the roof onto a wall just below him. Once he's gripping with just the upper half of his body, he dangles his legs for a brief moment, blindly trying to guide his feet onto the brick wall.

Once he finds it, he releases himself from the roof, landing neatly. Placing one foot in front of the other, he walks easily across the surface, jumping off it with no difficulty. He's in front of his house now, lit up in firey hues from the street lamp above him. Biting his lip, he kicks a stone softly as he walks away, down his street.

He's in for a long night.

Deep in thought, he doesn't even hear his phone buzzing until he snaps himself out of his daydream. It’s vibrating in the back pocket of his khakis shorts, irritatingly loud. It echoes against the quiet night, noisily disrupting his musing.

Fumbling with it in his hands, Thomas hastily swipes across the screen, accepting the call with a frown on his face. It's Minho. At 4am? What could he possibly want now? Suppressing a sigh, Thomas holds the phone to his ear, walking faster further from his house, down the estate.

"Yes?"

"Thomas! Where are you?"

"Uh, in my room. Why?"

"Bullshit. I can hear wind. Where the fuck are you? I'm not kidding around here, we're all in danger."

"What?!"

Minho groans over the other end of the line, and Thomas can picture exactly what he's doing. Running a hand down his face in pure frustration, pacing the room, probably. He hears a muffled voice in the background, and faintly recognises it at Teresa's. What's going on?

"Me and T are in my car, we're coming to pick you up. Meet us at the top of your estate, we'll explain everything once we get you." Minho orders, determination in his voice. Thomas doesn't even have time to reply before he hangs up, so he doesn't waste time on thinking and breaks into a sprint.

Thomas isn't exactly slow, so he makes it to the last house on his street just as Minho's car rolls into view, headlights flashing in emergency. Thomas sees Teresa in the passenger seat, still in her pyjamas, from what he can see.

Minho doesn't beep, but he doesn't need to, because Thomas climbs in straight away into the back seats, closing the door relatively quiet enough behind him. He buckles himself in as Minho turns the car, reversing into the Brown family's garden, slamming his foot onto the gears once they're facing the right direction.

"Okay," Thomas breathes out, heavily. His heart is racing, and he's got a sick feeling in his stomach, ugly and unnerving. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

Teresa eyes him through the front view mirror, face breaking into a look of defeat once she meets his gaze. "We're fucked. To put it gently," she starts off, sighing. Despite it all, she manages to remain as calm as can be, which settles his nerves the tiniest bit. "I'm still a little confused myself, so I'll let Minho explain."

Kicking the back of said boys seat, Thomas urges him on. "What happened? What's going on?" Thomas starts to waves his arms around, dramatically expressing his confusion. "I've no idea what's happening here!"

"Alright alright!" Minho snaps, despite the hint of amusement executed with a small smirk. He glances at Thomas for a second before turning his eyes back onto the road. "Listen carefully, Thomas. I'm not repeating myself, and for Gods sake, hold your horses for once, no questions until the end. Got it?"

"Yeah," Thomas replies, eagerly. He's impatient enough as it is, and Teresa is starting to lose her patience too, chewing her nails to bite her tongue, preventing herself from saying something she might regret. "Just explain what's happening, already."

"It's Ferdinand," Minho starts, sucking in a harsh breath. His eyes darken in a way that Thomas narrows his eyes at, watching almost curiously as Minho's nostrils flare in resentment, his grip tightening visibly on the steering wheel.

"WCKD found the store in Wildwood - somehow - and trashed the entire place before rounding up everyone who worked there - to take them to jail or WCKD headquarters, I don't know, but my guess is they went through security footage and found us on them. Either way, they know us three were there, and Ferdinand managed to call me without getting caught around half an hour ago. They're after us, so I grabbed T and rang you."

"We would have gotten you anyway," Teresa adds on, raising her eyebrows at him. "Especially with that ridiculous phone call earlier on. Were you honestly just going to skip town without us? And more importantly, without telling us? Seriously?"

Okay, she's mad.

"I didn't want you guys to get in trouble because of me," Thomas ends up mumbling, after moment of awkward silence. "You guys - I'm sorry. You don't deserve this. You're both on the run from WCKD all because of me."

Ducking his head to stare at his lap, Thomas fiddles with his fingers, sadly. He dragged Teresa and Minho into this mess, and he hates himself for it. He really does.

It's not until a hand is placed on his own that he looks up, meeting Teresa's vibrant, beautiful blue eyes. "Don't," she orders, tone curt and blunt, daring you to argue. "We chose to do this ourselves, Thomas. We knew the risks. As much as I wish we were more careful, there's nothing we can do about it now, so blaming yourself won't benefit anyone."

Minho nods, and it's then that Thomas realises he has no idea where they're going, or where they are. "Teresa's right, what's done is done, all we can do is figure out a way to help Newt. That's our plan from the start, right?" The Asian adds on, with his signature cheeky grin, dimples plastered on his cheeks, eyes crinkling mischievously.

Thomas literally wants to give them both a massive hug - despite all three of their lives being threatened, Teresa and Minho still want to help Newt, a boy they have never met or seen. All just because he's Thomas' soulmate. It's pure luck, honestly, how Thomas found his friends, because he is once again so _damn_ grateful for the both of them. He has no clue what he'd do without them, honestly.

"Ferdinand also told me some stuff," Minho continues, once they've reached a small roundabout. "WCKD's systems have seriously improved, man. They've upgraded it so that they can track the times soulmates write on their arms - and they can detect whether or not they've used lotions, now, even if one soulmate hadn't and the other has, which fucking sucks."

 _So that's how they found Newt_ , Thomas thinks, letting out a somewhat frustrated sigh. Newt really doesn't need the hassle, he really doesn't. It's not his fault, anyways. Sure, He started the whole 'fuck the systems let's subtly tell each other who we are' thing, but it was Thomas who got the lotion.

"They've also done this thing where they can track every single piece of information about literally everybody. Everyone in the WCKD system has a file, right? Since birth? Thing is, everything we do now is tracked by WCKD, and when I say everything, I mean _everything_ ," Minho grunts, jaw tensing defensively. "Your school, address, cars, friends, everything. Thing is, they've always known who's soulmates with who, now they can just control just about everything about it."

Thomas let's out the loudest groan in the backseat, and Teresa places her head in her hands, muttering a string of swears under her breath. It's out of character, for her. Thomas looks up when he hears her thump her seat with a fist.

"Fuck them," She hisses, clenching her hands until her knuckles turn white. "Fuck the system. Fuck the laws. Fuck all of it. We don't even have fucking privacy anymore, everything is controlled by those stupid fucking goddamn laws and I'm _sick_ of it!"

It's 4:30am, he's tired, sick of all the bullshit, sick of the laws, deprived of freedom, and he's got nothing left to lose, so Thomas kicks the side of the car door and decides to join in on the rant, too.

"It's fucking barbaric!" He roars, wishing he had something just to _hurl_ at a wall. He feels an overwhelming sudden amount of anger and he wants - needs to lash out. He wants to scream. Throw shit. He's so _damn_ mad - he's never been this angry, this sudden.

"How fucking dare they take away our dignity, how fucking dare they control our childhood, ruin the lives of people who want to just _fucking_ talk to their _damn_ soulmate -"

He's shouting, now. It's not like him to lash out, or to get so angry, but he can't help it. Teresa and him both start to shout at the top of their lungs, drowning out each others voices in an attempt to release the aggravation building up inside them for so long. Minho simply lets them, making sure the windows are rolled up fully as the two of the scream in vexation until their voices go hoarse, their faces flushed with fury Minho has never seen on either of them.

Thomas almost cries in frustration. It's not _fair_. None of it is fair. They can't just control their every move - it's not right. They're fucking teenagers for God's sake - they deserve to know their soulmates! They deserve to talk to them, to learn about them, to find them, to build friendships with them. To love them.

It's fucking insane to make it a law in the first place, and now this? This? Tracking down teenagers who decided that they didn't want to wait, just to throw them in juvie and ruin their entire lives? It's downright sadistic!

Thomas doesn't realise he's crying until he sniffs angrily, his cheeks wet and hot with streaky, salty tears that drip on his lip. He feels the muscles of his chin trembling, despite his weak efforts to stop it. His throat feels raw and scratchy, ugly. He blinks, lashes heavy with tears.

Teresa is crying too, broken, choked sobs that strangle her throat. The world is a blur, and she cries because she doesn't know rats ass about her own soulmate and it's so _warped_ to force them to hide their identities, to live in constant fear every month for the fucking brutal hand and body checks.

Minho reaches over to grab Teresa's hand, giving it a tight squeeze, before twists his arm behind him to repeat the action to Thomas'. Thomas clutches the hand gently, yet his grip is firm. He doesn't let go of Minho's hand for a while, who occasionally gives him a reassuring rub across the knuckles. It's soothing, in a way.

"You guys good?" The Asian asks, after a moment, softly. He gently twists his hand out of Thomas' grip as kindly as he can, and pats the boys knee before placing it on the wheel. Teresa and Thomas rub their faces and nod simultaneously, wiping their noses, and Minho doesn't say anymore.

Thomas suddenly takes in their surroundings, and sits up in his seat, totally, totally confused. They're in an underground parking lot, where, he has no clue, but for some reason he's not sure if he wants to know the answer. He rubs his eyes roughly, before shaking his heads calming down.

"Thomas, pass me the blue bag, will you?" Minho says somewhat cheerily, once he's parked the car, hopping out almost immediately. Thomas stares at him blankly for a moment, before nodding his head, reaching over to his left to grab the bag on the floor. he shoulders it before jumping out of the car, too.

Teresa follows them out, watching curiously, as Minho takes the bag from Thomas with a smile of gratitude. He saunters through the parking lot, humming. Once he reaches the entrance to whatever building they're beneath, Minho shrugs the bag off his shoulder, reaching behind a broken vending machine to pull out a ladder.

Thomas finds himself opening his mouth to ask _where in the hell he got the ladder from_ , but decides that doesn't actually really want to know the answer. Minho is too mysterious sometimes.

"Back up plan." Said boy says, deviously, balancing it accurately against the wall. It's only then Thomas realises what he's doing, and Teresa whistles beside him. "I thought _I_ was the smart one," she comments, impressed. Thomas nudges her with a boyish grin, and she shoves him back, just as playful. Their eyes are still red and their cheeks are still tear stained, but they smile, for each other.

Thomas sighs, watching intently as Minho carefully pulls out a toolbox from the bag. He uses the gadgets to disconnect the security camera, twisting the wires this way and that. He carefully edges it out of view, dismantling the device with a satisfied smile.

Thomas watches with his mouth open dumbly, as Minho repeats the action to all of the cameras spying on their antics, a smirk evident on his face. He carries the ladder back and forth, taking his time to deconstruct the cameras.

It's not until he appears to be finished that Thomas clears his throat. "What," he starts off, face blank with disbelief, "exactly are you doing?"

Minho shakes his head as if it's the dumbest question in the world and Thomas is somehow _supposed_ to know the answer - but all inquiries are met, because Minho strides casually over to another car strikingly like his own, kneeling down behind it. He drops the toolbox carelessly beside him, before setting to work.

That's when it clicks, and Thomas and Teresa both let out the most pathetic, childlike ' _ohhh's_ ' Minho has ever heard in his entire life. Nonetheless, he chuckles heartedly at their simultaneous conclusion, tugging at the licence plate until it detaches from the car, neatly.

He repeats the action with his own car, easing the plate off, before dragging the plate from the other car over to his own, switching them.

"They know my license plate," Minho says, breathily, fixing the false plate into place. "So, I gotta switch em' up. Unfortunate for whoever owns that car, though." He says that with a snort, rolling his eyes with a cheeky smile. Of course, he doesn't mean it.

Thomas let's out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, then. How clever is that? Switching the registration plate with a different car? He would have never thought of that - and judging by Teresa's persistent look of awe, she hadn't, either.

"Come on," Minho says then, eyes glinting with something devious, bold. He opens the car door, gesturing to the seats. "Thomas' soulmate is waiting."

Teresa gives Thomas a knowing look. They smile softly at each other, then at Minho. It's almost 5am, the sun is coming up, they're in an underground parking lot switching up license plates, running from WCKD, and on a mission to save Newt.

And as they say, the adventure awaits.

15.05.18  
10:31am  
thursday.

Newt is crying.

He doesn't _mean_ to - the WCKD guard outside his cell keeps telling him to _keep it down kid_ \- but he can't help it. Everything is happening too fast - it's so overwhelming and he's not entirely sure if he can handle it all.

Long story short, WCKD captured him, brought him back to headquarters and tormented him for hours. He has yet to meet the chancellor he recalls as 'Ava Paige' and the assistant director ‘Jansen’ over some sort of skype call - but they threw him everywhere all over the place anyways to apologise - quite embarrassingly - for his 'sins,’ before tossing him into an ugly, small, foul smelling cell.

The way that all the WCKD guards laughed at him was almost unbearable - Newt had wanted to cry right then and there as they all took turns mocking him repeatedly. The sly, belittling comments on his appearance didn’t exactly work wonders for his self esteem, either.

Now, he’s walking, well, limping, around in a wet, musty and grimy cell, that WCKD didn’t even have the human decency to place even a _mattress_ in. Clearly, Newt is expected to sleep on the numbingly cold, sharp, hard floor. Lovely. Great for his back, too.

He’s given up on trying to spit out nasty remarks towards the rather large guard, sat all too comfortably on a wooden chair right outside the cell bars. The guard, who’s name tag says _David Brownlow_ and has short, stubby grey hair, doesn’t pay any attention to Newts insults. He either downright ignores him or fires back with such intensity, Newt can’t compete with him.

It’s infuriating, to say the least.

So instead he turns to the only thing that he seems to be doing a lot. Crying. He’s not exactly quiet either, so he belts out loud, childlike sobs that David begins to lose his patience over. He’s on his last straw, trying to ignore Newts whining as best as he can.

Newt chokes on his tears and rubs his eyes, absolutely exhausted. He wants a bed, and his blankie - they took his blankie and he’s having an absolute meltdown over it. His whole body trembles again and he’s starting to panic. His heart race is increasing and _he hasn’t got a pen he can’t talk to Thomas - fuck_.

Crying _somehow_ even louder - Newt begins to get hysterical, tugging at his hair roughly. His head is tucked in between his knees, hiding his face. He can’t keep it in, and, to put it gently, he really can’t give a single fuck about what David does. They’ve jeered and ridiculed him enough already, what’s he got left to lose?

“C-can I just have the blankie? Please?” Newt manages to somehow choke out, sniffing hard with red, bloodshot eyes. He looks up from his knees, lip wobbling dangerously as tears continue to roll down his cheeks. David almost feels sorry for him - the kid looks so _weak_.

Newt tries again when he doesn’t get a response. “P-please, it’s all I have - please.” And with that, fresh, thick tears leak from his eyes, down his chin. He starts to cough, scratchy noises that burn his throat. He just wants his blankie. That’s all he needs.

Sick of his snivelling, David turns around to face the boy, glaring. “If you don’t shut the fuck up in the next five seconds, I swear to _God_ you will never see that _damn_ blanket of yours ever again-”

“ _Please!_ ” Newt howls, squeezing his eyes shut as he cries even harder, snot beginning to drip down his nose. He doesn’t care - he never cares. All he cares about is if he gets his blankie, and at this stage it’s not looking good for him.

“Jesus - fine! Just shut your damn mouth already!” David snaps, rising from his chair, spitting out his words. “Wipe your rotten little face, quit the fuckin’ crying, and I’ll get you the stupid blanket, alright?”

Nodding, Newt wills himself to stop crying, pressing his lips together, hiccuping. He stares at David, bottom lip still quivering. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, then. He doesn’t even know what he’s apologising for, but he pulls the sleeve of his jumper across his hand, wiping it across his eyes, then nose. David gives him a curt nod, before disappearing down the hall.

Newt wants to throw his skull against the wall. He’s so angry, but his fear covers it up. He’s so _bloody_ scared, that he can’t do anything he wants to - fight back? Not a chance. Try escape? No hope there. He’s too much of a pissbaby, and he has no idea how he’s going to get out of here.

Just as his eyes begin to water again, David returns with loud, clumpy, heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, announcing his arrival. His boots thump against the titled floor as his face and body come into view, sturdy and strong.

Newt flinches on instinct, curling into a tighter ball. David, true to his word, wordlessly passes the blankie through the metal bars, dropping it with a gentle thump beside Newt. When the blonde sniffles again, the guard sighs, leaning against the cell.

“Listen, kiddo, it’s alright,” he says, eyes softening suddenly. He smooths the hard expression on his face, going as far to even curl the corners of his mouth into the tiniest hint of a smile. “It ain’t so bad - nobodies gonna hurt ya. At least, not yet - if you’re good.”

Newt hugs the blankie tightly to his chest, as some sort of comfort. He looks at David curiously, eyes wide and full of childish innocence. “Be good,” David repeats, nodding at the boy, firmly. “You do that, and nobody will lay a finger on ya. But if you’re bad - ain’t nobody gonna tell ya what’s gonna happen then, kiddo.”

His voice drips with a manlike hoarseness to it, thick and rough. Newt nods at his orders, fingers gripping his blankie even tighter. David almost feels bad at how much comfort the blonde takes in such a silly piece of fabric - but has the decency not to comment on it. The boy has been through enough harsh comments today, anyways.

“Get some sleep, long day tomorrow.” David tells him, because even he notices the dark, noticeable bags beneath the kids exhausted, bloodshot eyes. He’s swaying slightly, anyways, tired after a long day of being dragged and jeered at by WCKD. It’s not long before the teen curls on the floor, face mushed into the blankie.

David sighs again, taking a second just to _wish_ that the kids who did wrong didn’t have to go through what Newt was about to. It isn’t going to be easy, and he’s seen what’s happened to teenagers before.

 _Long day, huh?_ he thinks, almost snorting at the irony.

_Boy, that’s only the half of it._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops cliffhanger lol don’t @ me  
> ANYWAYS IM SORRY THIS IS LATE AS F U C K
> 
> i’m also going to a summer camp tomorrow for two weeks so i’m very sorry i’ll try squeeze an update in but i think y’all are just gonna have to be super super lovely and wait for me :)
> 
> lots and lots is coming next chapter, this is kinda super boring and literally makes no difference to the story whatsoever and i’m v sorry for that but i promise all the shits going down next chapter :)
> 
> love y’all. thanks so much for reading, and as always, gimme a l&c if ya enjoyed cos i LOVEEE those <3
> 
> see you in two weeks!!
> 
> \- bee


	10. x.

15.05.18  
5:32pm  
thursday.

"I'm hungry."

Newt sighs. It's about the fifth time he does, when he yet again doesn't get a reply. His voice is desperate, and he has no idea what time it is, but judging by his growling stomach and his watered-down orange juice with plain toast from this morning, it must be near dinner.

Newt hasn't been doing much today. WCKD simply left him in his cell, with one toilet break after breakfast. David had told him a long day awaited him today, but nothing had happened and Newt doesn't know how to feel about it.

There's this new guard, too, who's plumper. With tan skin and dark hair, a large, long nose that takes over his entire face, and an ugly looking wart on the side of his chin.

He's not as, kind, as you could say. Which Newt thinks might be an understatement.

In fact, kind wouldn't even come up in his description vocabulary. Not once, but four times has he taken Newts blankie just to toy with it, simply to enjoy the terrified effect it has on the young blonde. Newts eyes are so swollen from crying -it's hard for him to keep them open.

He doesn't know when he's getting something to eat, but he hasn't had anything since early this morning and he's starving. Not to mention exhausted - a long day of panicking and crying out of frustration and fear has left him weak in a way that is awfully familiar. His throat is unbearably raw from shouting for his blankie back - he's had a long day and he's _wrecked_.

"Please?" Newt tries again, his weak voice cracking. He sniffles loudly, rubbing roughly at his nose. Snot and tears are all over his jumper and he feels so dirty.

He's sat on the floor, legs crossed. His head is heavy on his shoulders, chin resting on his chest, because holding his head up is too much of an effort. He fiddles mindlessly at his fingers, eyes darting everywhere, wide and round with wild alert. His hair is sticking in all sorts of directions, greasy and in need of a good wash. He's in need for a good wash.

Stomach growling, Newt tries harder. "I'm really hung-"

"Robert, I'll _fucking_ kill you, you foolish buffoon!"

Both Newt and the guard (Harold, is it?) turn their heads are the sudden uproar echoing down the hallway. The harsh, awfully British threat bounces off the walls, loud and violent. Wincing, Newt curls tighter into himself, while Harold immediately jumps to his feet, hand on the pistol at his hip for any sudden needs of protection.

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" He calls, calmly, with a grating voice that is painful to listen to. He stands in a strong stance, legs firm and body positioned in a way that shows he is used to being obeyed. Newt crouches just looking at him.

"If you please, sir, this man here has stolen my rifle -"

"I did no such thing!"

Newts eyes widen when the two men finally come into view, only to stop respectively in front of Harold, who raises an eyebrow at the pair, unimpressed. One of them has mad, red hair, with ugly grey eyes and with a snub nose, and a long, pointy chin. The other seems less in-your-face, with a short brown buzzcut and shorter frame. Newt guesses ginger is Robert, and can't help but pick up on the formal chatter.

"And such - activities - must be brought to the attention of everyone in the facility, because?" Harold questions harshly, with a deep frown that sends both men a few steps backwards. Newt watches the scene unfold with fascination, ignoring his aching stomach.

"No, sir. I lost my temper, and I apologise. However, Robert has misplaced my rifle and I do believe that is an extremely important violation -"

"I did not! I would never lie my standards enough to place a single finger on your shitty rifle, George!"

"ENOUGH!" Harold bellows, stepping forward with an intense anger that sends fear through both men. "Both if you, return to headquarters immediately. Discuss the issue with another chancellor, instead of howling like pathetic children down the corridors. I have things to attend to."

He says this while nodding towards Newt, who has slowly uncurled from himself to stare openly at the two men. His head sways slightly, eyelids drooping. His hands are fisted in his blankie, looking up with eyes suddenly wide with curiosity that makes him look so awfully _young_.

"Who's this young man?" Robert says, the rifle completely forgotten as a look crosses his face. His bends down on his knees to get a better look at the blonde, smirking when he sees him tremble. "This that new kid that broke the rules? What a small little fella he is!"

Newt hides his face in his knees.

"I thought he was sixteen." George pipes up beside Robert, crouching down too. They both peer rudely at the teen.

"He is." Harold sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He leans against the cell, watching as the two comical - idiots - snort at themselves at the timid reaction from Newt.

"Nonsense!" George laughs, leaning in between the bars to poke at the blonde. "He can't be older than fourteen! Look at him!" At this, Newts lip tremble, as he refuses to look at them.

George makes a face at him, banging on the bars to frighten the teen. Robert spits at the blonde, laughing louder when Newts face crumples, tears building in his eyes.

"S-stop it. Please." Newt mumbles, with tired eyes. He really can't go through another day of this. He gives Harold a pleading look, slightly begging for him to take them away. He half expects the guard to laugh and join in. He is pleasantly surprised when the round man does the opposite.

"Give it a rest, the pair of you. Collect yourselves and follow me," Harold grumbles, glaring at the two once they back away from Newts cell. "Right, get a move on. We'll discuss the issue back in headquarters, no ifs, what's, or buts about it."

The three of them slowly trudge down the hallway, and Newt allows himself just to breathe, finally in peace. He sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. He closes his eyes, thinking about everything that's happened over the course of two days.

He wonders slowly if his mum is worried about him. If Richard is lonely at night now that he doesn't have Newt to use whichever way he pleases. To toy with, to force into humiliation. Newts face crumbles at the memories.

_Don't you cry. It's not going to make anything better, it just shows how much of a baby you've been. How much of a baby you **are**._

Hastily rubbing at his eyes, Newt takes a deep breath. He's been focused on his human needs, on his blankie, on everything but escaping. Which is what he needs to do the most.

Typical Newt.

He sits still for a while, momentarily thinking about how much he's been crying lately. About how vulnerable he's become. It's angering, frightening, maybe. He hates how much he's succumbed to his desperate wants of just someone to take care of him. To tell him that everything's going to be okay. Someone like _Thomas_.

Newt wonders if he's coming. Is he really? Does he really care? Would he really travel all the way to England? How does he know Newts even telling the truth? Have WCKD caught him? That would really just be the icing to the fucking cake.

Newts life has spiralled so fast - it's hard to keep up. He's never been this bad before - he's suffered from Richards abuse for so long but - but he's always been relatively okay. He's never been this desperate for someone just to hold him, to give him a hug.

But sitting here whining about it isn't going to help, either. He needs to move. To get himself together and try figure out a way to get out of here. It's a pity Newts never really been the brightest.

_Think, Newt. THINK._

There's air vents above him, but he has no way of reaching. _Fuck my height. Should have taken bloody steroids_ , he thinks, bitterly. Despite his previous conclusion, Newt jumps up anyways, holding his arms up in a feeble attempt to reach the air vent. It doesn't work, and even though he knew it wouldn't, he feels miserable. All he's managed is to pull the door of it open.

What the fuck is he supposed to do?

He starts to walk around in a circle, stretching his legs while he's at it. His head hurts a little bit and his stomach is still sawing at his organs, but he tries to clear his head and focus on his priority: _getting out of here._

There's a small, square window that's just low enough for Newt to reach. There's no glass, only bars, hence the fact that is fucking cold in here all the time - Newt frowns suddenly when he remembers how chilly he gets at night.

But the window - he can use that as a boost to get to the air vent. It seems ridiculous and Newt is almost 100% sure it won't even work - but better worth a try, right?

So he runs. And jumps. And misses, hands slipping and falling flat on his face with a groan. Then he jumps to his feet again. Better than crying, at least. Take two.

Run, jump, fall, again.

It's repeated at least seven times, before Newt manages to hold himself long enough to grip onto the window bars, hoisting his small body up onto the ledge. He lets out jagged breaths, struggling to support himself. It's not that he's heavy - Newt knows himself that he weighs practically nothing, he's just weak.

Weak, tired, broken, and in need for some love.

Standing on the ledge, Newt wedges his feet in between the window bars to secure his stance, leaning to reach up into the air vent. Once his hands are gripped securely on the edge, he pushes his legs off the window.

Pulling himself up onto his elbows, he shimmy's half his body into the vent. Legs dangling, he panics when he hears footsteps cascading down the hallway. _Fuck_.

As fast as he can, Newt hauls himself into the vent, closing the door of it behind him. He sits still for a moment, holding his breath. He's not too sure why - whoever it is (probably Harold) is going to see that he's not there anyways.

So, he crawls.

Considering Newts shockingly small structure and the comfortably spacial vent, Newt crawls with ease, one hand after the other, vice versa with his knees. It's where to that halts him. Where _exactly_ is he going?

"Ah shit," he mutters, because he has no clue where he's going - his sense of direction has always been complete and utter shit. How is he - a first class dumbass - supposed to figure out where to go? His brain is smaller than his fist - how in the fuck is he supposed to get out of here?

He's about to curl into a ball again to try hide from the world, before he somehow manages to stop himself from doing so. It's always been his comfort - curling up tight where he can tuck his face between his knees, that way he can pretend he's somewhere - anywhere. Not here.

"Okay," he tries to reassure himself, "get a move on, you spastic tool."

He's just _lovely_ to himself, isn't he.

Nonetheless, he gathers himself together, crawling through the tunnels as fast and as nimbly as he can. Which, isn't hard for him. Newt has always been light on his feet. Like a little fairy, his mum would say.

He reaches a corner, and he's almost relieved when he sees theres an opening to another room. Lifting up the panel carefully, he peers down into the empty room below him, eyeing any sort of object he can climb down onto.

Satisfied with a white desk within leg reach, Newt clamours down stealthily. Landing on the desk with a gentle thump, Newt takes a second just to breathe. His heart is pounding against his chest - if someone walks in, he's pure fucked.

The room itself is large, with all sorts of weird technology Newt can't name strewn everywhere, with steel metallic walls and glass sliding doors. They're shut tight, with flickering lights.

It's not until he sees the boxed packages on top of a cabinet - supplies of some sort - that he starts to get an idea. He reads the labels on them, wondering where they're being sent to. His heart jumps once he reads the address.

WCKD  
2713 Earnhardt Drive  
Louisville  
Kentucky, USA

USA.

 _Maybe_ , Newt thinks, with a grin slowly creeping on his face, _instead of Thomas trying to get to me,_

_I can get to Thomas, instead._

  
15.05.18  
10:41am  
thursday.

This should be nice.

A road trip. With your two best friends. Windows rolled down with hot summer breeze blowing in your hair. Driving to places none of you know, with promises of adventures and mystery to come. It sounds nice, doesn't it? It should be.

Except it isn't.

Instead of relaxing with the windows rolled down, blaring music to shout the lyrics at the top of their lungs, Thomas, Minho and Teresa fidget restlessly as the car drives on. There's no music, just that god awful silence where someone wants to say anything - but there's nothing to say.

They can't be relaxed. They can't have a good time. Hell, they're driving a car with a mixed registration plate, hiding from an evil organisation that controls children's lives and once upon a time burned them alive - trying rescue Thomas' soulmate which is thousands of miles away.

So no. They're not having a good time.

Minho has a stony expression on his face, eyes focused on the road. None of them know where they're going - they need to get to Newt. Somehow. It's infuriating how he lives in fucking England - how are they supposed to get there?

Thomas is in his sweats and hoodie from yesterday, Minho in a similar outfit. Teresa is still in her pyjamas, asleep against the window in the backseats.

"We need to get far from New Jersey," Minho breaks the silence, causing Thomas to look up from where his head was leaned against the window, "at this point I don't care where we end up. Just far from here."

Thomas hums, a little sleepy. "Yeah," he murmurs, lifting his head completely to sit up in his seat, "I think I might know a place where we can crash for tonight — it's just getting to Newt that's the problem."

"We don't have passports, we don't have a lot of cash, we don't have a clue how to get there. This is tough, Thomas." Minho sighs, turning a corner. They're in a small town, god knows where it is. There's no way they're in New Jersey, after all. Minho's been driving for hours.

"Have you been talking to him?" Minho pipes up again, deciding to change the mood. "You haven't said anything."

"No," Thomas mumbles, rubbing absentmindedly at his arm. "He hasn't said anything, and I don't want to get him hurt if I say anything. I don't know what to do."

"Then let's focus on the plan," Minho says, firmly. "We need some sort of transport to get to England and plane is totally out of question. I just - how will we get there? Unless we can sneak onto some sort of ship there is no way possible."

Thomas growls. "There has to be."

Teresa, after waking up from her slumber, yawns loudly, announcing that she was in fact alive. She rubs her eyes, her gaze falling onto Thomas. "Tom? Your arm?"

Thomas had been so focused on some kind of way to get to Newt, he hadn't even noticed the tickling on his forearm. Eyes widening, he glances at Minho and Teresa, before slowly lifting his arm to read the new message.

 _I'm coming. don't move_.

"Holy shit." Minho breathes, looking at Thomas, totally perplexed. Thomas stares, before Teresa drops her jaw in complete shock. None of them know how to react.

Thomas can't even speak. He doesn't even know what to think, to feel. Newt coming here? How? What?

"Newt..." he murmurs, because how the hell is the small British boy, who seems to be hurt and vulnerable, not to mention _captured by WCKD_ , supposed to get to here?

"I'll take it," Minho grins, swerving the car around a sharp corner, earning a "what the fuck, Minho?" from Teresa, who's now squashed against the window.

"I don't get it," Thomas grumbles, wrapping his long fingers around his arm, holding Newts words securely in place. "He's literally in WCKD. How the fuck did he manage to escape? What the hell is he up to?"

"Stop thinking too hard," Teresa says, nudging his shoulder. "Newt seems to always know what he's doing. We know he needs our help, we know he's hurt, but he also seems determined. We'll get to him, Thomas. Just trust him, for this. Okay?"

Damn, Teresa always knows what to say. Thomas is once again silenced by her sense. How does she know about these things? How does she always make everything he's worried about not so bad?

"Okay."

There's a small moment of total peace, the three of them thinking to themselves. There's still that small rush of nervous adrenaline and atmosphere surrounding the car. It's quiet, before Minho suddenly swerves the car in a panic and let's out a string of curses. "FUCK! FUCK, THOMAS - FUCK!"

The car speeds up without warning, sending Teresa and Thomas flying across their seats into the windows. Minho  grips the steering wheel like his life depends on it (maybe it does) and sends the car spiralling down the road, tires screeching loudly.

"It's WCKD!" Teresa gasps out, looking out the window behind them. Sure, she's right, about four WCKD vans are flashing behind them, picking up speed at Minhos sudden reaction. "Oh _fuck_ ," Thomas shouts, urging Minho to go faster. "They tracked us!"

"I changed the fucking registration plate!" Minho yells back, desperately trying to lose them. The car swerves all sorts of directions, Teresa and Thomas clinging onto everything for dear life. "How in the fuck did they catch us?"

"Doesn't matter!" Thomas gasps, as Minho drives even faster. "Just fucking drive! Anywhere!"

So, Minho does.

He gives Teresa a warning look through the mirror, nods at Thomas, and fucking _goes_.

Thomas and Teresa start screaming simultaneously, they're heading towards the pier and fuck there's the fucking _sea_ -

"MINHO!" Thomas screams, clasping Teresa's arms from where she's placed them around his neck. "MINHO STOP! FUCK-"

The car skids, swerves, and spirals uncontrollably down the pier, and soon enough, Minho loses all control of the vehicle as it goes flying off the pier, and into the ocean.

The last thing Thomas hears is Teresa's scream, and Minho grabbing his hand, yelling out a "I'm so sorry."

And then everything goes black.

15.05.18  
6:07pm  
thursday.

Newt is hiding and he feels fucking invincible.

He hasn't had this kind of feeling in his stomach since when he had the house to himself - when him and Thomas interacted with each other during their games - revealing themselves in clues and puzzles only they could figure out. Back when things were okay.

He's hiding in a place even he knows they won't find him. They'd have to look really hard if they wanted to spot him. It's not even that difficult, really, once you know. That's the fun part.

He's hiding in the ceiling - up wedged between the pipes. He's got a birds-eye view of the entire room - he can see who walks in and who walks out. He hasn't been discovered, and he gives himself an imaginary high five.

Maybe he's not so stupid, after all.

There's a swiping sound of a keycard, and the double glass doors slide open. Newt sits up, somehow making himself harder to be seen. Two WCKD workers walk in - the first one Newt spots seems to be some sort of scientist, dressed in a white lab coat and rubber gloves. She has a net around her blonde hair and clear protection goggles perched on her head.

The other one, male, is dressed similarly. He has a cardboard box in his hands, shifting it to fit more comfortably in his arms as the two of them walk right underneath Newt, across towards the pile of boxes waiting to be sent to America.

"These are being transported by the berg tomorrow morning. I need you to do a last list check of everything tonight to make sure there's nothing left behind. Ava Paige and Janson won't be happy if things are misplaced. Am I clear?" The man says. His tone seems cold and strict, extremely unfriendly. The woman beside him gives him a look, before rolling her eyes. "Yes, Bert," she grits her teeth. "You're clear."

The two turn around and stride casually out of the room, unbeknownst to Newt, who literally has his fist in his mouth to stop himself from yelling in ecstasy. The berg! That's how he'll get to America!

He'll have to sneak on it tomorrow morning - before they load on the packages. They'll never even suspect a thing. He'll simply just have to wait here tonight, stay awake, and wait until he can find out where the berg is and sneak on. Brilliant! He's brilliant!

As his gaze drops onto the packages, he wonders what's inside of them. What kind of supplies do they send to WCKDS across the world? What could they possibly need that's so important?

Fishing out the pen the nicked earlier, Newt bites his lip happily. Thomas doesn't have to worry about getting to him. Maybe he's in WCKD already - who knows. He might be hiding too.

Either way, the smile doesn't leave his face as he rolls up his jumper sleeve, excitement filling his bones. They're going to be together. He's going to hug him. Touch him. See him. He's going to see Thomas and nothing - not even WCKD, will get in his way.

 _I'm coming_ , he writes, smiling harder.

 _don't move_.

16.05.18  
11:11am  
friday.

"I think he's coming to."

"Wakey wakey!"

"Tom? You good?"

"Hold on."

Thomas cracks open an eyelid just as he feels a small hand lightly slap his cheek. Groaning, he squints, vision clearing as several faces come into view. Minho's is the first he sees, morphed into an unusual look of concern and worry.

Teresa has a similar expression, her hand locked gently with his. She doesn't say anything, but it's all in her eyes. _You okay?_

Thomas squints harder when he spots two unfamiliar faces, peering down at him curiously. The dark skinned man next to Minho coughs lightly, clearing his throat. "I see you have awaken, _hermano_. How do you feel?"

Thomas gurgles in response, suddenly feeling the urge to cough. He does, sitting up and emptying the salty sea water from his stomach. It's an unpleasant sight, and Teresa removes her hand from his to place it on his back, instead.

"Easy, easy," an unfamiliar, female voice pipes up. Thomas wipes his mouth, delirious. He blinks, as his eyes finally land on the last face, another one he hasn't seen before. The girl has large, brown eyes, and short brown hair to her shoulders. Her appearance gives Thomas the suggestion that she's not much older, if even, than himself.

She's kneeling down next to him, holding him upright. Her tone is firm, and she sounds sure of herself. Like she knows what she's doing. "Careful. You might throw up your organs," she clicks her tongue, "can't have that happen, can we?"

Thomas almost chokes. Who is she?

"Pass the scanner, Jorge, will you?"

It's not long before Thomas is twisted into his stomach, a harsh grip on his neck. He struggles instantly - still loopy from the crash. "H-hey!" He yells, noticing the same events happening to Minho and Teresa.

"Shut up, you big baby," the girl says, rolling her eyes. There's a beep as the scanner flashes against his neck, and Thomas sucks in a breath, not knowing what to expect. From the corner of his eye he sees Minho putting up a fight with the dark man, spitting and biting roughly.

Thomas is starting to think these people aren't here to help, after all.

The girl glances at the device, pursing her lips before throwing it over to Jorge. They make eye contact, and Thomas feels his nerves hijacking.

"You know what this means?" Jorge says, eyes burning into Thomas' soul, testing him. "You're WCKD kids. Like the majority of the population. But - you're the ones on the run. Correct?"

The dark haired girl scoffs, grabbing the device back. "Thomas Edison," she declares, raising her eyebrows at him. Thomas gulps. "Teresa Agnes," she continues, pausing after a moment, as if she's hoping for a reaction. She doesn't get one.

"And Minho - " 

"Okay! Okay! We fucking get it, damn!" Minho spits out, angrily. His arms are being held behind his back by Jorge. The Asian has long stopped struggling, but there's a sour look on his face.

Teresa is on her knees, silent throughout the entire procedure. Her eyes are on the girl, who's staring at them sceptically.

"I don't think you understand," she says, waving the scanner as if to prove her point. "WCKD have literally sent entire teams or organisations after you idiots. You're on the news, in the papers - cops are on the case, too. You're lucky we found you when we did."

"She's right, _hermano's_ ," Jorge says, nodding. "You're not safe. Not here, not anywhere. You're going to have to come inside and tell us exactly the three things we need to know. Where do you come from? Where are you going? How can we profit?"

"You can start by _getting the hell off me_!" Minho snaps, tugging harshly. The girl gives him a subtle nod, and Jorge bluntly lets his grip loose, letting Minho fall onto the sand.

It's then that Thomas realises where they are. Some sort of beach. They seem isolated from the entire world, hidden away. He knows he isn't, but he feels pretty safe. No one can possibly find them here.

"We're trying to save a soulmate," Teresa says suddenly, her voice soft and quiet. All eyes suddenly turn to her. "She speaks!" The girl quips, smartly, and Teresa frowns.

" _My_ soulmate," Thomas adds on, then. He sits himself in a comfortable position, watching as Minho does the same, after flipping off the Hispanic man.

"He's been captured by WCKD, since we both broke the rules - we got caught using this lotion from a soulmate store in Wildwood, which got ambushed and the employees got captured too. WCKD's after us, obviously, and we're not sure what to do."

"That's a sad story," the girl says, and Thomas isn't sure if she's genuine or not. She shifts a little, folding her arms with a smirk. "Like I said, you're lucky we found you. Soulmates on the run is our _specialty_."

"Brenda," Jorge says, in a warning tone. "Don't encourage them. Not until we know what we can do." So that's her name.

"Lets just take them to the huts," Brenda says, gesturing them to stand up with a wave. "We can figure out what's going on properly there - and see what we can do. I'm sure these assholes are starving, too."

Jorge and Brenda. Nice to finally know their names.

Jorge whistles in thought, before nodding with a simple shrug. "Let's get going, then, before WCKD see us. Get a move on, squirts."

So the three of them dust themselves off, and Thomas finally takes a moment to thank the Gods that he's even fucking alive - he was almost 100% sure he was going to die, how did they survive that?

They walk and walk and walk, deeper into the small woods behind them. The trees crown over them like unpretentious canopies - various different shades of green and brown that blend together in a mixture of nature paint.

There's a clearing then, with rays of sunlight shining down on batches of flowers. Through there is when small huts come into view, a new sandy area disguised by trees. Safe.

There's groups of families everywhere - but there's a serious lack of young children. Mostly teenagers are roaming around, building, exploring, doing some sort of every day task that helps the small environment. Thomas can't help but smile at the sight.

"This, is what we do," Brenda says, gesturing towards the small crowd. "All these people? Victims of WCKD. Victims of torture. They've been hurt, beaten. They've seen and experienced things that they shouldn't have, right? All because of a few dumb mistakes."

"Our goal is to shut WCKD down," Jorge says, from behind Thomas. "They've hurt one too many, taken over lives since birth. They have too much control. Teenagers live in fear. Parents are anxious of their children. Soulmates aren't artificial - but they may as well be - with WCKD's control."

Minho growls, clenching his fists. "My friends are there," he mutters, kicking at a stone. "Our main guy is Thomas' soulmate - but if you help us get him, we'll help you take down WCKD. Right guys?"

Teresa swallows but nods too. Thomas is busy staring at a boy that looks ridiculously familiar -

"Aris!" He yells, suddenly, when the brunette boy turns to face him. He waves, hoping the teenager recognises him. Minho and Teresa stare, gaping. Wasn't Aris taken away by WCKD too?

"Thomas Edison," Aris says, walking towards them. He has a cheeky tone to his voice but he isn't smiling. "What in shits name are you, of all people, doing here?"

Thomas tries not to wince at the insult. "Hiding from WCKD. What about you?"

Talk about no tact.

Jorge, Breda, Teresa and Minho are silent at the tense conversation, eyeing each other as the awkwardness goes on.

"Trying to get myself back together after what they did to me," Aris replies, bitterly, and Thomas' heart suddenly breaks for him. Of course he's upset. Thomas has no idea what Aris has been through, and never even thought to help, either.

"I'm sorry, Aris." Thomas says softly. He reaches out to touch his shoulder, as a gesture of comfort. Aris gives a small smile of appreciation. "It's okay," he says, brightening suddenly. "Rachel, Harriet and Sonya helped me a lot. They're here somewhere. They've done the best for me - everyone here has."

"I'm glad you're okay, Aris," Minho says, moving forward to stand beside Thomas. "Seriously. It's not easy escaping from WCKD."

_It's not easy escaping from WCKD._

"It sure as hell isn't," Brenda pipes up, starting to walk further. "Which is why you three shouldn't have to - so come on, follow me."

Jorge leads the way in front of Brenda, as Teresa, Thomas and Minho follow like lost ducklings. Aris wanders off on his own, finding something to do with himself. None of them talk, but the silence isn't awkward. Peaceful, almost. The views are really something else.

There's a hut much larger than the rest situated in the middle of the small beach, which Thomas guesses is the main place. What for, he doesn't know, but he follows the rest of them inside and is pleasantly surprised at how modern it is.

"Take a seat, kids." Jorge orders, pulling out his own chair from the large table in the centre of the hut. "We have lots to discuss."

Once everyone is seated and ready to talk, Jorge lets out a relaxed sigh, nodding towards the rest of them, waiting for someone to talk first. Thomas takes a deep breath.

"His name is Newt," he begins, deciding to start right from scratch. "We - he - broke the rules first. It wasn't anything especially bad, it - it was lighthearted at first, y'know? It was a game. He was just playing around. He uh, he drew a dick on himself, which showed up on me, obviously. He just said he likes to draw things he has - and that was kinda the start of it."

"Gender reveal," Brenda hums, running her finger in a circle around the ring of her glass of water. "Sweet."

Thomas ignores her, continuing on. "I copied that and basically did the same thing, which got him excited, I guess. He wrote down this - this riddle - I had it written down in my book - wait. Hold on. Where's all my stuff?"

Jorge sighs, placing down his cup of coffee. "In the cupboard in the storage hut," he says, starting to get impatient. "Now, continue."

"Right," Thomas nods, shaking his head to try get back into where he was. "Right, yeah, the riddle. He wrote down Sir Isaac Newton's birthday, said something about third word, four letters, or something. Took me a while to figure it out, but that's how I knew his name was Newt."

"I did the same thing," Thomas takes another breath, trying to place his memories in order. "I wrote down the times for when Thomas the tank engine plays on TV - "

He's cut off by Brenda's loud laughter, who immediately tries to silence herself when she receives glares from just about everyone. "Sorry, sorry," she says, still smiling. "Go ahead."

Smiling, now, Thomas carries on. "He got it pretty quick, I think. From then on, we got carried away. Told each other what we look like, where were from. I mean, the first time I told him I was a boy, I got scared shitless, so Minho, Teresa and me went to a, uh - 'super secret soulmate store'? Where we got the lotion that erases things you've said to your soulmate. Only works once, though."

"Ah, that lotion works wonders," Jorge cuts in, smiling as if it's a fond memory.

"Doesn't matter," Thomas says, suddenly bitter. "We got caught anyways - _somehow_ \- and now I don't know what to do because he's told me to stay here - that he's gonna get to here from fucking England, even though he's in WCKD. I've no idea what to do, I mean, we were gonna try get to London but -"

"That's entirely out of question," Jorge says, shaking his head, totally against the idea. "There's no way you'll get there. Not when the entire WCKD world is after you. You have no chance, you'll have to trust Newt."

"But he's only sixteen!" Thomas slams his hand down on the table loudly, suddenly feeling a wave of protectiveness and anger mixed in one. "He - he's hurt, Jorge! I don't know how but he is, and he's scared and he's vulnerable. Yes, he broke the rules first, yes, he's a sneaky little shit, but he's still just sixteen and I can't _stand_ the thought of him getting hurt!"

"Calm down, Thomas," Brenda says coldly, turning harsh. "Control yourself. No use in getting all worked up. Take it easy."

Jorge agrees. "I understand you're upset, but in a world like this, you're going to have to trust what he says. There's no use in trying to get into WCKD if he can find a way to leave."

"Especially not with all the shit that they do," Minho growls, suddenly. He's playing with his fingers, having been silent the entire conversation.

Teresa gives him a funny look, and the rest of the table turn to the Asian, urging him silently to go on.

"I - I haven't told you guys this," he murmurs, looking up from where his eyes were in his lap. "I - I knew about the soulmate store, and Ferdinand - because of something that's happened before."

Shit. Thomas doesn't like where this is going.

The atmosphere in the room changes completely. Everyone is tense in their seats, listening intently to Minho, not a single sound except his voice.

"I had an older sister, once," he admits, shyly rubbing his arms, eyes dropped to his lap again. Teresa and Thomas try not to make a reaction that will throw him off, but they stare at each other with wide eyes full of disbelief. Holy shit? Minho had a _sister_?

"Her name was Maya, and when she was fifteen, she broke the rules."

Minho's voice sounds dangerously wobbly, and Teresa swallows thickly, grabbing his hand. Hand holding seems to be Teresa's main source of comfort, these days.

"So she got sent away. My parents did everything they could to get her back - they offered all their money, the house, anything. But it didn't make a difference - they didn't give a shit. That's - that's when we met Ferdinand."

"He'd formed this small gang of escapees. They'd all been to WCKD before, and - and - they saw my sister. They saw what they were doing to her, what they were _experimenting_ on her."

Minho takes a minute to close his eyes, clenching his fists tightly. Thomas feels his heart breaking more and more. How had he not told them any of this? How had he bottled it up for so long?

"They were turning her into something - like, like some kind of zombie. Cranks, I think that's what they were called. They - they were creating this artificial virus called - the flare? To wipe out some people because of overpopulation. Obviously, they never had to do it, but they used kids who broke soulmate laws as test subjects. Maya was one of them."

Brenda has a hand over her mouth in shock, echoing Thomas and Teresa's shocked expressions. Jorge has a remorseful look on his face, stunned to silence. Minho's eyes start to swell with tears, and Thomas grabs his other hand, squeezing tightly.

"They killed her. WCKD fucking killed the sister I don't remember, and they're going to _fucking_ pay."

Thomas squeezes harder. He can't possibly imagine what Minho has gone through - and yet he still stands by Thomas' side, knowing exactly what can happen to them.

Minho is a _warrior_.

"When did that happen?" Jorge asks quietly, after a while. It's so quiet Thomas doesn't think Minho's heard, before he sniffs and swallows thickly, and Thomas can almost hear the lump in his throat.

"I was only three. It - it was fourteen years ago. She'd be twenty nine, now."

"I'm really sorry Minho." Thomas whispers, the words barely on his tongue. He wants to kick himself. All this time he's been making stupid decisions and Minho has been by his side, after knowing that they had killed his sister.

"Newt needs us," Thomas suddenly says, eyes full of determination, glinting with a sort of fierceness that wasn't there before. "Ferdinand needs us. People, need us. WCKD is destroying lives and it's time somebody stop them. We can't let them do things to kids like what they did to Maya."

Minho sucks in a breath, finally looking up to look at everyone sat at the table.

"We're doing it," he says, placing his hand in the centre. "We're gonna take down WCKD, free our lives, and save the ones that have been taken. Who's in?"

Brenda places her hand on top of Minho's, before Teresa does the same, followed by Jorge. They all look at Thomas, who has a faraway look in his eyes. "Tom?" Teresa urges, softly, nudging his leg gently.

Thomas slowly looks up, heart thumping wildly in his chest. They're going to do it. They have to. The world needs this. It’s up to them to change things. It’s time to take action.

Placing his hand on top, he lets out a breath he hadn't known he’d been holding.

"Yeah,” he says, with determination.

“We’re in."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLLLYYYYY SHIT YOU GUYS  
> I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS IS SO OVERDUE AND LATE AND FUCK YALL ARE W A R R I O R S FOR WAITING THIS LONG
> 
> anyways, i am back from camp and free to write for y’all legends (the comments make me cry fr fr i love them thank you SO much) and newt and thomas WILL finally meet in the next chapter, which will be up next saturday/sunday (i PROMISE)
> 
> thank you all so much again for sticking with me for the super slow update - i promise i’ll try not to take as long again, and i really really appreciate the love <3
> 
> i love y’all. with my whole ass heart.
> 
> see you soon ;)
> 
> \- bee


	11. xi.

16.05.18  
6:01am  
friday.

Newt can almost feel the blood rushing through his veins, his heart thumping out of his chest. His hand is clamped over his mouth, securing his breathing. He can't see what's going on clearly, but he's timed his moment and he knows exactly what he needs to do.

For once, in his life.

Footstep after footstep, Newt watches with wild eyes as the constant sight of shoes and legs walk past him. He fights the urge to sneeze, squeezing his nose so hard it's painful.

He shuffles even further under the berg, thanking himself once again - his new hiding spot was miraculously a success. Terrifying, but a success.

Men and women in WCKD uniforms are surrounding the berg, trapping Newt from sneaking inside. Considering the berg is parked outside the facility, the wind nips at Newts ears, tormenting him.

He bites his lip when he hears the doors to the vehicle open, a loud, screeching sound that almost makes him squeak. There's a small bang that follows after, and he hears a masculine voice call out orders.

"The ten of you, go and collect the boxes and bring them here. Clarissa, Patrick, call Ava Paige and let her know the packages are on the way. Stan, go find Harold and see if there's any updates on the missing boy. The rest of you, stay with me and prepare for takeoff, while we wait for the pilots to arrive.”

Newt wants to kick himself. How the hell is he supposed to get inside the berg now?

He hears a chorus of "yes sir" and almost sighs. If there's people still here here's _no way_ he's getting inside. He's fucked, once again. Truly, terribly, royally fucked. It's becoming a habit, at this stage.

Newt shuffles silently further beneath the berg, hands flat on the harsh pavement. Rolling his palm against the tiny stones littered across the ground, he squints his eyes at a small red box just outside the facility.

 _A fire alarm_.

Newt doesn't bother wasting his time wondering why the fire alarm is _outside_ the building, but instead tries to focus on how he's going to manage to press it. A loud distraction like that is just what he needs to escape securely onto the transport, safe and hidden from WCKD.

If only he had a slingshot of some sort....

There are sticks laying uselessly around the berg, behind the vehicle, after falling from claw-like trees that cave over, twisting with age. Newt smirks at his luck, scooting on his stomach backwards. He reaches out to grab a stick that miraculously has a V-shape, still safely beneath the transport.

Pulling it underneath with him, Newt looks around for some sort of rock. He needs one that's sharp, heavy. One that will actually break glass. Probably not worth the look, considering this has about two percent of a chance at working, but like everything, he tries anyway.

There's a small cutting rock that really doesn't exactly have a shape, and Newt leeches for it. Thanking the Gods he hasn't been caught yet, his arms swing around beneath the berg, this way and that.

Next, he tries to sit up as much as he can without walloping his head against the bottom of the berg, awkwardly positioned with his neck at an uncomfortable angle. Grabbing the waist of his tracksuit bottoms (they are really starting to smell) he grabs the strings and starts to tug, ripping into the fabric to pull out the elastics.

It takes a while, but once he's finished he rolls the bottoms to keep them somehow at his hips, far too big. He ties the elastic onto the V-shaped stick, grabbing his rock and admiring his handiwork. Not bad for a slingshot, eh?

 _Okay, Newt_ , he thinks to himself, scooching towards the edge of the berg, peaking out towards the alarm. Not too far, not too close. Good enough. _Don't screw this up, you've only got once chance._

Trying not to gulp, he positions the rock onto the elastic, slowly pulling it back as far as it will go. Aiming it directly at the alarm, Newt takes a silent breath and prays just as he lets go, hoping for it to _bloody work._

Squeezing his eyes shut, he's in for a surprise when he hears the faint sound of glass breaking, and soon enough an ear piercing alarm radiates throughout the building, loud and irritating as it sends out an alert for fire.

 _Bullseye_.

He silently fist bumps to himself, grinning as wide as his teeth will let him. He can't get the smile off his face, the light feeling of relief washing over him. He did it, he actually did it.

He hear yells and shrieks as WCKD workers run towards the building, confused and worried at the same time. Just as the coast is clear, Newt rolls from under the berg, heart racing right out of his chest.

_GO, GO, GO!_

He can't even see clearly as he starts to sprint around the vehicle, almost tripping because of his limp. His ears are ringing, as he climbs up the ladder on the side, thankful that the doors are open. Throwing himself inside, he races towards the back, diving in behind the boxes just as he hears the alarm turn off.

His heart is thumping wildly out of his chest, and Newt thinks that surely one of these days he's going to give himself a fucking heart attack — he can't handle all of this shit that makes his heart race faster than a cheetah. No way.

Collapsing in relief, he curls up almost comfortably on the ground. He feels snug and safe hidden by the tower of boxes around him. The space is small but somehow cosy, and he takes the chance to snuggle into himself, wrapping his arms around his legs as he closes his eyes.

He's had a long night, after all.

_I'm coming Thomas. I'm coming._

  
16.05.18  
11:15am  
friday.

 _The weather always seems to be perfect here_ , Thomas notes mindlessly, walking into the main hut with a full belly (courtesy of a really cool guy named frypan, Thomas likes him already) and itching to get started. Minho and Teresa are waiting for him inside, accompanied by Jorge and Brenda, of course.

The four of them greet Thomas wholeheartedly as he walks in, not even waiting for him to sit down before they burst into conversation, throwing ideas around the room. They're like small little bubbles floating through the air, each one with some sort of insane and dramatic idea inside.

Thomas bursts one by cutting off Brenda with a question (of course, Thomas was always the curious one.) "How are we supposed to shut down WCKD if they have an entire freaking _army_ against us — we have nothing on them!"

"Don't get all discouraged now!" Minho cries, voice laced with an undertone of desperation. "Not now — we haven't even started yet!"

Thomas rolls his eyes, almost insensitive. "Of course not," he frowns, picking at the skin on his fingers. "I'm just trying to point out he obvious set backs, here. We need to get more people on our side, to fight with us, if you will."

Jorge groans, with a hint of impatience that is characteristic of him. "That's what were sorting out, Thomas. _Listen_ , for Christ's sake."

It's almost embarrassing, and it should be, but Thomas is already too wounded and zoned out worrying about Newt to focus on the mild humiliation. It must be noticeable, because Teresa gives him a sly nudge with her foot, slowly coming out of her shell amongst the strangers.

"You in there?" She ventures, a small smirk playing on her lips. Opposite him, she leans over to flick at his wrist. "C'mon, Tom. Hear us out, Brenda has a good idea."

It's encouraging, almost, if said girl wasn't staring at him so intensely. Thomas tries not to swallow under her gaze. "Yeah," he murmurs, trying to meet everyone's eyes. "Yeah I'm listening."

"Great!" Brenda chides, going as far with the dramatics to stand up from the table, addressing the hut. "It's far-fetched and all too risky — but what isn't with WCKD? I have an idea that could potentially kill us but also kind of save the world, is everyone listening?"

Thomas kind of wants to laugh. She sounds a little stupid, if not ridiculous. Acting as if she's speaking to the population of America, instead of three teenagers and a middle aged man in the centre of a tiny, what seems to be soundproof, hut.

"Yes," Minho replies, dully, giving Thomas a sideways glance. Thomas ignores him and focuses on trying to be serious. This is important, after all. "Great, because I need you guys to do some digging. We're gonna need some science genius kids, tech wiz hackers and all that shit. Know anybody?"

"Well, considering we're miles from New Jersey _and_ our high school," Thomas begins, almost snarky, "I don't think it makes much difference who we know. Besides, if we contact someone back home, who knows it won't lead WCKD directly to us? That's just irresponsible."

"Who said you'll be doing the contacting?" Brenda retorts, cheekily. She's starting to frown at him and Thomas realises that he really needs to quit picking fights. They're on the same side, after all.

Brenda continues, "Myself and Jorge have weird connections with people who can contact others without drawing attention to our safe place. We're gonna need some kids who can hack into software systems and send out radio signals. That way we can communicate with the entire population, anonymously and quickly, which that way we can get WCKDS attention drawn to elsewhere, buying us time. Make sense?"

Damn. Thomas can't lie — she's got this all figured out. Maybe taking her seriously isn't so bad.

Jorge nods, clearing his throat for special effect or genuinely, Thomas doesn't know, but the Hispanic man crosses his fingers, preparing to speak. "It's a win win," he declares, eyeing them all. "Once we reveal just exactly what WCKD does to children, parents are bound to be distraught, who wants that to happen to our children? Doctors need to stop chipping babies, hand and body checks are a must to shut down — the brainwashing needs to be justified, and this is the way to begin."

Humming to herself in thought, Teresa speaks up again, voicing her own opinions that Thomas always finds sensible. "But how does that earn us an army? Starting a riot across the population? That's starting a revolution, serving WCKD a taste of their own medicine. That's not saving those in danger behind the walls. They have power, Jorge. We need a backbone to the structure, or else everything will crumble without something to support it."

Brenda's eyes widen at that, coming to a realisation that Thomas almost finds a bit pathetic.

"Teresa's right," Minho agrees, eyes glazed over. His voice sounds almost monotone, dull and empty. "What good will it do just to expose the systems across the world with mentally and emotionally unstable families and parents? That'll just cause a massive ruckus instead of _actually_ solving anything."

Thomas hums in response, showing his clear outlook on the statement. He agrees completely. Of course he does — they can't walk into this blindly and hope for the best. They need the smarts, strong, determined.

They need the ones who want to fight back, the ones who've lost those they love. The ones with fire, passion. The ones they can _trust_.

And Thomas thinks he might know just exactly where to start.

"We're swimming in a literal pool of fighters, here!" He urges, waving his arms around to emphasise his points. "Look around! Look at what you've created! Every single person here has been hurt. Every person — every _kid_. Every life that is here right now this second has been brought to their most vulnerable state of mind — unable to fight, unable to save the ones that they love. Those are the people that are fuelled with absolute _raging_ flame — and _those_ are the people that can help us."

Minho has a cheshire cat grin on his face the second Thomas stops talking. Brenda has a look of utter disbelief on her face and even Jorge seems mildly impressed. Teresa, being Teresa, gives him a shove on the shoulder, smirking. "'Atta boy."

Brenda and Thomas lock eyes for a moment, before the feisty girl nods, curtly. They've come to a settlement, then. "Right," she swallows, though the same strong look is plastered on her face. "Let's get started then."

Thomas smiles.

She smiles back.

  
16.05.18  
friday.  
11:35am

It's almost bizarre how Newt managed to sleep as well as he did, considering his current position. Knowing fully well that his chances of getting caught and sent right back to where he came from are undoubtedly high, it's a wonder how he's stretching his limbs from a peaceful slumber. A miracle almost, his heart is racing the second his eyes fly open.

The berg is fast, speedy. It's smooth in the air and not a lot of turbulence has caused any hassle. It's Newts first time flying, and he's almost glad he's not able to see how high up they are. He thinks he'd cry if he did.

He hasn't cried all day so far, which is good for him. It's stupid, really, but he's a tiny bit proud that he hasn't had some kind of meltdown. Crying has really been the only thing to do, lately. Acknowledging that has become second nature, but Newt wills himself not to cry today. Just this once.

He's heard the pilots call out to one another, discussing landing and all that. It's a relief, to hear he's getting off soon. He's itching to get out and run — if his limpy leg can keep up with the adrenaline in his bones. He doesn't want to be slowed down because of his gammy leg. Not now, when he needs it most.

To think he's so much _closer_ to Thomas is ridiculously brilliantly utterly fantastic — he doesn't even bother thinking about how he's going to find him. Not just yet. Not until he can settle down at the thought of them being so close.

It's about thirty minutes until the aircraft will prepare for landing, and Newt can handle that. It's getting off that's going to be tricky. They're obviously going to unload the boxes — coming up with a solution of them not seeing him is difficult. Undeniably difficult.

Where he's sat is snug and comfortable, if not a little cold. The jumper keeps him plenty cosy, however, and the baggy trackies that warm his legs. He needs to pee, and it's some sort of miracle he's managed to hold it in this long. It's starting to get painful in his lower belly, and he curls his legs tighter to himself, trying to restrain from easing the pressure.

He can't. He can't. Not here. Not here. _No_.

Thirty minutes isn't too long. He can somehow sneak off and find a bush somewhere. He can hold it. _He can_.

Trying to distract himself, he fiddles with his blankie, relieved that it's stayed this long with him. He'd definitely cry if he'd lost it somehow. He can't imagine leaving it behind. He needs it more than anything.

Closing his eyes, he tries to fall back asleep. The ache in his belly is getting too much, and if he sleeps, he won't have to worry about it. Simple as.

Letting his mind wander off, Newt pulls the blankie tighter to him, snuggling into it.

It's not long until he's out.

—

"....Wet...."

"What's.....doing.....here...."

".....Wake....him...."

Newt blearily opens his eyes, startled immediately at the two faces staring at him, and he panics, almost forgoing acknowledging the uncomfortable sensation between his legs.

Gripping his blankie, he scrambles up, crawling backwards in alarm, eyes wide with fear and a string of curses flowing through his brain. He's caught. Fuck. _Fuck_.

"I'm sorry!" He yells, eyes starting to sting as he covers his face. No. No, this can't be happening. Why did he fall asleep? Now everything he's worked for is for nothing, and they're going to send him back. God knows what they'll do to him there.

He starts to cry, loudly, betraying himself. He told himself not to cry — what the _fuck_ is wrong with him?

He's trembling, visibly. It's not until he feels a gentle hand on his knee does he dare to open his eyes. "I'm sorry — I'm bad, I'm bad I know I'm dirty and disgusting and I'm so stupid I'm sorry—"

He's starting to shout, becoming hysterical. He doesn't see the faces morph into concern, or feel the soft hand squeezing his knee gently. His vision is blurry, tears are dripping down his face. He's hiccuping and sobbing and neither of the pilots know _what the fuck to do._

"Hey," the first one whispers, holding his knee. His eyes are kind and warm, comforting. There's something about him that Newt finds somehow friendly — and he rubs at his eyes, trying to stop his face crumpling again.

The other one kneels down beside his partner, hair dark and flat against his head. He, too, looks somewhat welcoming. He has a tissue in his hand, where he's seemed to produce from thin air. He leans forward, slowly, to wipe at Newt's eyes. "It's okay," he murmurs, kindly.

"We're not going to hurt you," the one rubbing his knee says. His receding hairline is grey, but he gives off such a wave of safety that Newts eyes widen as he stares at him, with fear and curiosity all in one.

It makes both men all the more sympathetic.

"How old are ya, son? Fourteen?"

Newt isn't even in the right state of mind to be insulted at the question, instead trying to calm  his racing heart, mumbling a tiny, "sixteen."

Both men are clearly shocked at his answer, but politely try to cover up their surprise. Grateful for their kindness, Newt tries to smile. It comes out watery and weak, but it's there, nonetheless.

There's an awkward silence for a moment before the grey haired bloke coughs lightly, giving his partner a look before meeting Newts eyes with a soft expression. "Listen, kiddo," he starts off, voice low and quiet, as if not to startle him. "We're gonna get you cleaned up alright? Nobodies gonna hurt ya, or put you back where you came from. There's a diner not too far from here and we'll get you somethin' to eat."

_We're gonna get you cleaned up._

It's that sentence alone that Newt suddenly looks down, and _fuck_ , if he wasn't embarrassed before, he sure as hell is now. There's a dark, wet patch on his crotch, and Newt wants to fucking kick himself.

He wet himself. He fucking wet himself.

"I—I'm sorry!" He shouts out, again, and the crying starts once more. It's tears of humiliation, and he's so frustrated he can't stop the sobbing. He's crying so loudly both the pilots are eager to try shush him, but he's so _disgusting_ , he can't hold it in.

His eyes are squeezed shut, bringing him through a wave of flashbacks that he doesn't want — his eyes are puffy and his heart hurts, and now his brain is starting to malfunction because of stupid shitty memories that he wishes didn't exist.

He remembers a lot. He remembers crying on the bathroom floor, shivering with barely any clothing on, even naked at some times. He remembers the bruising on his thighs, the stickiness on his chest. He remembers his swollen lips, his burning throat. He remembers vomiting almost every single _fucking_ time — he remembers it all.

He remembers Richard sneaking into his bed at night, only to let out cruel, humourless laughter at the feel of Newts sticky bedsheets. "Such a baby," he'd whisper, before ripping Newt from his sanity and destroying whatever hopes he had at sleeping with rough, harsh thrusts and unbearable whispers.

He remembers waking up on his sixteenth birthday drenched in his own urine, shaking and sweaty because of nightmares of Richards promises. "A special treat for the special birthday boy," he'd purred, squeezing Newts rear. "Just wait, lovely, you'll have your sweet sixteen very soon."

He remembers sobbing helplessly onto his bed, tugging at his hair with frustrated chokes and hiccups because _what the fuck is he supposed to do —_

He remembers refusing to sleep at sleepovers with Alby, terrified out of his mind that he'd have some sort of nightmare and ruin whatever friendship they had. No. No fucking way would he risk wetting himself at Alby's house. _No way._

He remembers trying to go back to sleep with wet sheets and being so shamefully uncomfortable — but refusing to allow himself comfort because _this is your fault, you caused this you fucking baby._

He remembers Richard ruining his life and he wants to _scream_.

"I'm really sorry!" He howls instead, with damp trackies and sticky legs. "I'm really _really_ so—"

"Breathe, kiddo. You need to breathe," the dark haired one tells him, gentle. "It's okay, you don't need to be sorry. Just relax, alright? Don't get worked up. We'll get you a change of clothes, something to eat, and then you can tell us what exactly you're doing. Sound good?"

Newt whimpers, making small sniffly sounds that breaks both of their hearts. This kid is sixteen years old, yet so vulnerable and _small_ — he's so fucking small. The WCKD pilots share a glance, because they need to help this kid. They have to.

"Okay." Newt whispers, then, almost impossibly more fragile than before. The two men gently help him to his feet, watching as he curls into himself and pulls his blankie to his chest. He seems to be in a complete other world, but they guide him to the door of the berg, taking their time.

"We're going to have to hide him," grey man says, sighing. They're parked right outside the massive WCKD exterior, the large building lit up, white and pristine and scary. They haven't yet left the berg, and Newt mumbles to himself, wanting the ground to swallow him whole.

"I've got a car parked here somewhere, I left it before we flew to London," dark haired guy says, and it's then that Newt realises he has an American accent.

"Go get it, I'll keep watch. We can head to Rocko's, get some grub into him."

"Sounds good."

Newt watches with a sense of security, somehow knowing that these men won't hurt him. He has no idea why, but he doesn't want to ask. Not yet. Not while he can barely form words and his legs are wet with his own piss.

It's not long before a small green minivan pulls up just outside the doors of the berg. The dark haired man waves at them, signalling for them to get in. He rolls down the windows, sunlight streaming in. "Get in, morons. Nobodies around, the workers will be around in ten to collect the packages. I've told them we've been alerted to emergency circumstances, we're free to leave, so move it!"

The grey haired man chuckles heartedly and places a hand on Newts back, gently pushing him forward, keeping him hidden from prying eyes, despite being behind the building. Opening the door for Newt, the man goes as far to help Newt with his belt, which isn't exactly necessary, but Newt feels somewhat safe, and tries to smile gratefully.

Once they're driving outside of the WCKD facility, out the gates of the horrible organisation, dark haired man pipes up from behind the wheel. "I'm Stephen. My buddy here is Billy. There's a few stores around here so I'll just run in and get you a few things to change into. Is that okay?"

Newt nods, pressing his lips together.

"Okay," Stephen nods, smiling at him through the rear view mirror. "Do you want to tell us your name? It's okay if you can't."

Newt is silent for a moment, before he tucks his chin on his chest, squeezing his blankie so hard his knuckles are white. "It's Newt," he whispers, voice insecure and small.

"Alright Newt," Stephen greets, still smiling just as friendly. "I'm glad you told us. You know you're safe with us, right? I promise we won't hurt you. We just want to help, if you'll let us."

Newt ponders for a moment, sat in the middle of the backseat, a clear view of both men. They seem kind, caring, trustworthy. They seem loyal and gentle and friendly and helpful and Newt kind of wants to cry because it's been so long since people have treated him like this.

"Yes," he whispers again, heart racing. "Please don't turn out to be the bad guys."

He says this with a trembling voice and eyes as wide as saucers. Stephen looks at Billy with utter sadness. This kid has clearly been through so much to be this vulnerable. There has to be something going on that neither of them can even _dare_ to think of.

"We promise we aren't, and I know we haven't given you a very good reason to trust us yet, but I hope you will. We're not going to turn you in. We're the nice guys," Billy tells him, with a lighthearted wink and a carefree tone that makes Newt smile.

Relaxing, Newt sits with his head tilted back on the seat, looking out the window. He looks so little. Hurt. Stephen and Billy lock eyes and silently agree that no matter what happens, they're gonna look after this kid.

After around half an hour Stephen pulls into the car park of a place called Target, and Newts eyes widen. The shop is huge — big and inviting and new and exciting, he starts fidgeting in his seat. "It looks cool!" He grins, suddenly. "Can I come too?"

"Of course you can, silly." Billy chuckles, unbuckling his belt and stepping out of the car. Newts about to follow before his grin falters, staring down at his wet patch. "I'll stay here actually," he mumbles, quietly, fiddling with his fingers. The two men share a concerned glance, before Billy shrugs, easy going.

"I'll stay with him," he offers, smiling. The decision is made up as soon as the man buckles himself in again, indicating that he won't be leaving the minivan any time soon. He gives Stephen a thumbs up. "You know what to get."

Stephen nods with a small grin, turning to make his way inside the building, leaving Newt and Billy alone.

Still exhausted and hunger catching up on him, Newt takes the time he has to nod off, cheek mushed into his belt, before he flops over onto the seats, stretching out. Billy gives a fond smile, watching quietly as the boy sleeps.

It's not long before Stephen returns, with a small bag and an accomplished look. "A victory!" He claims, cheerfully, as he jumps into the drivers seat. He shuts up at the sight of Newt, then smiles fondly. "Rocko's?" He questions, and Billy nods, chuckling softly.

Considering the neon lit diner isn't far from Target, they're parked there in no time, debating on how they should wake him up.

"He looks so peaceful."

"We should let him sleep."

"He's probably really hungry."

"Should we just shake him?"

"Maybe just yell his name."

"Or how about we slam the car door?"

"And scare him? No!"

Their bickering ends up stirring Newt, anyway, who wasn't deep enough in his sleep. Rubbing his eyes, the blonde boy gazes at the two men curiously, before coming to his senses and realising where they are. "Oh," pops out of his mouth, and Billy snorts.

"C'mon, kid, let's get you a bite."

Once they're inside the diner (Newt using the bag of clothes to hide his wet patch, shuffling behind Billy) Stephen grabs them a booth. Newt heads off to the bathrooms to change, and almost trips on his way there. He looks like a small child and both men feel a wave of protectiveness over him.

Once Newt is safely locked inside the checkered bathroom, he strips, thankful to be out of the dirty, wet, God-awful clothes. There's a mirror, and he's startled at the sight of himself. He looks like pure _shit_. His hair is all tangled and sticking in every single direction, his eyes have deep circles underneath them and he looks wrecked.

_No wonder they're so worried about me. I look like I've been hit with a train._

He's eternally thankful that Stephen grabbed him small boxers and an extra jumper. It's big and warm, a soft maroon colour. The tracksuit bottoms he picked up are black and comfy, and the pockets fit his blankie in just right, if not a little big. Everything is a little big, but he doesn't care. More cosy, that way.

He leaves his washing in the bag, using the bathroom while he's in there. He washes the inside of his thighs with burning cheeks, glad to be rid of the soggy boxers.

Once he returns, wiping his hands on his legs, he slides into the opposite side of the booth, facing Stephen and Billy with a toothy smile. "Thank you," he whispers, shyly. He has no idea what he did to deserve the kindness of these two, but he's sure as hell glad they found him.

While the two men scan the menus, Newt uses the time to actually look around the place. The diner is a small all-night sit-down vaporwave lit up paradise, with checkered tiles and Marilyn Monroe posters and neon lights.

There's old music players and waitresses skating around. There's red stools and seats and milkshakes on every tray. It's something straight out of the 50's and Newt _loves_ it.

By the time a cheerful waitress skates over with a checkered red and white uniform and hair pulled into a messy bun, Newt has no idea what to order. He's so hungry he could eat anything, but he doesn't know what to say or how to ask and —

Billy and Stephen must sense his nerves, because the two of them order before him with ease, before playing it safe and ordering chicken nuggets and fries for him, along with coke which gets the teen smiling again. There's a side order of hot wings and onion rings, and Newts stomach rumbles at the smells.

This is officially his new favourite place, and _God_ , would he love to bring Thomas here.

"I guess I should probably start my story, then," Newt suggests, mumbling already. His gaze is on his fingers. He tries to calm himself down, taking a deep breath. They won't hurt him. They're nice. He can trust them.

"Whenever you're ready, buddy. Let us know what we can help you with," Stephen encourages, and the two men sit patiently, waiting for him to begin.

Newt isn't the type to ramble. He isn't. In fact, the only people Newt ever really speaks to is his mum, and Alby. That's it. He doesn't speak to anybody else. _Ever_.

So why he begins to ramble, throwing his hands around with mad gestures is beyond his knowledge, but he does it anyways. He almost likes it. It's nice to be able to open up, instead of being afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"So I started the mess, basically. This entire thing really is my fault, Thomas just went along with me and somehow did something to make sure we wouldn't get caught — but we did. I did. I mean, we tried to be subtle with all these weird riddles to find out our names and stuff but then I got taken — a-and—"

Newts voice cracks, remembering how awful it had been, running from home, stolen by WCKD. He clenches his fist, hearing Billy gently coax him to breathe. "Take a breath," he says, demonstrating.

Newt copies him, steadying his heart rate, before slowly continuing with his story.

"I ran away from home. My stepfather — he — he and I didn't really get along. We had a fight and I just ran, I guess, and WCKD found me. I—I don't know how I escaped, but I did. They're after Thomas too, and I don't know what they're planning to do to him, but they can't hurt him. They _can't_. I need him."

"Thomas is planning something. I know he is. He has to be. He was going to try come to me," Newt let's out a small chuckle, the slightest hints of joy in it. "But here I am. I'm going to find him. There's more to the story on his behalf that, that I need to find out. But I need to find him first. Without WCKD tracking me down."

Stephen and Billy are silent as Newt tells his story, suddenly seeming so brave, determined. There's a look in those big brown, childlike eyes that make both men eager to help. How, they're not sure. But they're going to help this kid. Somehow.

"He's here. Somewhere. It's just the bloody chips that keep throwing me off — WCKD could know exactly where I am, for Christ's sake," Newt shuts up as the food arrives, and he mumbles out a thank you before he starts to stuff his little face, _starving_.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" Stephen asks, gently. Newt doesn't answer as he chews a mouthful of food, wanting to eat everything all at once. The second he swallows, he takes a drink of the coke. It's new and bubbly and tickles his nose, and he scrunches up his face _adorably_ , letting out a kitten sneeze at the sensation.

"Um, two days ago?" He sounds unsure, an onion ring between his fingers. "I'm not sure. It's been a day, at least."

Stephen growls, starting to get frustrated. Billy tries not to get heated, but it's clear the way Newt expresses his treatment from WCKD that the pair aren't fond of the company. "Why do they treat the kids like such dirt? It's ridiculous." Stephen grumbles, picking at a fry.

"It's downright inhumane," Billy agrees, taking a sip of his water, swishing the water around in its glass. "It's despicable."

Newts too busy eating to comprehend what they're saying, and it's not long before he's cleared the little red basket his food was served in, along with the majority of his wings and the onion rings. He's satisfyingly full, and he grins at the two men, silently thanking them.

"So, you're going to need to find that Thomas of yours, aren't you?" Stephen grins, and Newt smiles back, eyes crinkling with a sense of happiness he hasn't felt in a long time. "Yeah," he replies, swallowing. "I just don't know where he is."

"Well," Billy starts, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a pen to hand to Newt. "Why don't you ask him and find out?"

16.08.18  
friday.  
12:01pm

Thomas feels a rush of pride in him. Here he is. Surrounded by absolute warriors, standing strong and determined against their fear. He doesn't think he can get any prouder.

Men, women, teenagers. They're taking control. They're fighting back. They're going to save the world and Thomas feels his heart thump with a thrill he can't explain.

"We're gonna change the world," Minho whispers beside him, from where they're standing at the back of the audience. Jorge and Brenda are explaining the plan, and the majority, if not everyone, is totally on board.

They've got the smarts, they've got the strong. They've got the ones with burnt souls and dark secrets. They've got the ones who will fight. The ones who want their lives back.

"Yeah," he swallows, thickly, in reply. He can't quite believe it. Everything that's happened. Newt, WCKD, leaving home. It seems like forever since he gave away his identity, since he explored Wildwood, since he found out deep secrets, since Newt got captured, since the penis doodles.

And, really, it's really just beginning. The revolution has come to a start.

"WCKD won't know what's hit 'em," Teresa bounces over, as Jorge starts to prepare his speech to come to a close, concluding the plan. "We've got a team, here. We're going to have to work our asses off to get to where we want to go."

She's right, as usual.

It's then that Thomas feels a familiar itching sensation on his arm, messy and fast and ticklish. Gasping a little, he rips up his sleeve, watching the words form into place.

_where exactly are you? i'm coming. i'm HERE._

"What the fuck?"

Thomas can't comprehend — what? Newt? Here? In America? He can't be — no. That's not possible.

"Oh my god!" Teresa squeals, grabbing Thomas' arm to start shaking it. "Tom — oh my god! He's here! He's coming! He's really actually coming to find you!"

"Dude," Minho breathes, the smallest of smirks slowly creeping on his face. "That's _wicked_."

Still doubting it for some reason, Thomas reaches down into his sock to pull out a pen, hastily scribbling down exactly where he is.

_west virginia. beech fork lake. we're hidden, planning to take down WCKD. be safe._

He remembers Jorge hastily telling him the address earlier that morning, and he crosses his fingers for luck.

_Please. Please let him get here safely._

He doesn't get a response, so he rolls down his sleeve and places the pen back in his sock, which earns another question glance from Minho. "Why — "

"Don't ask."

"Right."

—

It's lunchtime when Jorge and Brenda join Minho, Teresa and Thomas again. The five of them are standing around a table, a detailed and crinkly map taking up the space, with tea rings from the cups and folded edges with age.

"See, if we go in this way, there's no way we'll get past the security tower," Jorge states, pointing at a red circle on the map. "It's not possible. Sure, we can have the brainy's at base here and hack into their radio systems, but faulting the shooting altogether? Not happening."

The 'Brainy's' are a small group of teenage to young adult men and women. They seem like the typical geeky science kids, but damn, Thomas wouldn't know smarter people if he saw them. These guys are geniuses — it's a wonder WCKD caught them in the first place.

"It's too unstable, anyways," Minho adds on, circling his finger around a small mark beside the red dot. "Not worth the risk. We're not doing anything unless we're one hundred percent sure it's going to work. We haven't got room or time for failure."

"The entrance here seems like a good starting point," Thomas concludes, leaning on his elbows as he gestures towards his statement. "There's tunnels here we can use for cover, and then we're inside the city. Louisville, right?"

"That's right," Brenda flips the map so she can make a point herself, a pen in her mouth. Removing it to draw a line across a small section, she sighs, loudly.

"Only problem is the tracking, really. Especially you, Thomas. We're going to have to find a way to remove the chips if we want even a small shot of getting inside. There's no use in trying when they've probably got alarms that set off the second they detect us."

"How will we do that?" Teresa inquires, her hands wrapped around a small mug. "I mean, it shouldn't be a difficult procedure to remove, but we need someone from inside WCKD to deactivate them. Even the brainy's can't meddle with those systems."

"That's where I'm stuck too," Thomas admits, tracing the mark Brenda left on the map. "Getting them out would be easy in the hands of an educated person, but doing it without triggering alarms or shutting them off altogether is an entirely different story."

There's a knock at the door then, and without waiting for an answer, the wooden barrier barges open, almost breaking off the hinges. It's Harriet, surprisingly, who saunters in, all smirk and smug, with a shotgun on her shoulders and a person trapped in her grip.

A WCKD guard?

Harriet let's out a smile that symbolises something almost evil, and Thomas finds that he likes her. Sonya follows her soon after, and it's then Thomas realises that the blonde girl has a gun at the lower back of the female WCKD worker, stopping her from escaping.

"Don't worry," Harriet smirks, dropping her gun to swing it in an act of innocence. "I think we can help with that."

 

16.08.18  
friday.  
1:32pm

  
They've been driving an hour and Newt doesn't think he's ever had this much fun in his life.

Billy and Stephen are blaring this song (Mr. Brightside?) and they're belting out the lyrics like there's no tomorrow. Newt, sill quiet by nature, had accustomed to simply bobbing his head cutely with a happy open-mouthed smile.

They've rolled down the windows and Newts fluffy hair is getting absolutely butchered by the wind, but he's having a fun time and feels just so _content_.

He's got both hands on his blankie, sitting in the middle seat once again. His shoes are kicked off and his fluffy socks warm his small feet. He's got them up on his seat, closing and opening his knees and clinking them together. His head, once again, is pressed right back directly against the car seat, rubbing against it as he bobs his head side to side.

He's so warm and cosy and there's actually a blanket in the back of Stephens car, just in case it gets cold. It's lovely, in a way Newt could have never imagined. It's something he's never known he's always wanted and he's so, so glad he's where he is right now.

He’s told Billy and Stephen about Thomas’ plan to take down WCKD (he’d smirked, of course he was right) and they’d taken it all in their stride, totally on board. Newt is once again so grateful to have found people like them, willing to go to the end of the Earth just for him.

With a full belly and the windows rolled up, Newt starts to get hot. A slow, sad song is playing and Newt feels himself drift in and out of consciousness. Once he nods off with his head on his shoulder, mouth agape, Billy leans over to place the blanket tighter around him.

"There's something he's not telling us, I think," Stephen declares, at a junction. Billy raises his brow at him, just as Newt let's out a small snore. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," Stephen says, turning the heating up in hopes of Newt sleeping longer. "I mean, what teenage boy wets himself? Or needs a blanket toy, thing — ? I know we were told to keep an eye out on this kid by Janson because he escaped — but there's no way in hell we're letting him get hurt. He's way too vulnerable at this stage. I mean, he acts like a _child_."

"We don't exactly have an explanation for that though," Billy responds, trying not to seem too defensive. He's grown to like this lost, tiny, curious kid, despite his differences. "There's obviously a reason why he acts like that, but do we really need to know? All we need to do is just support him through this. We both know it's pretty clear he's been through a lot."

Stephen let's out a frustrated noise, trying not to get annoyed. "Yeah of course, but what reason would a teenage boy wet himself other than trauma? Look at him, Bill. He's a walking skeleton, a milk bottle. He's startled and jumpy with just about everything and he has such young characteristics, it's hard to remember that he's sixteen."

"What are you getting at?" Billy says, almost in a warning tone. Stephen sighs, rubbing at his eye. "I think he was being abused," he blurts, abruptly. Billy doesn't answer, but his expression gestures Stephen to keep going with his theory.

"I mean, that would explain the wetting, the blanket, why he acts younger. I've heard of tons of kids who went through an abusive childhood and ended up being teenagers that were so traumatised they didn't know _how_ to act. Socially. I'm guessing he reacts to things  like that because he's just _scared_ , and doesn't really know how to be independent."

Billy takes this into thought, chewing on his lip. He looks back at Newt, who's sleeping soundly, blanket tucked around his chin. He really does look frighteningly small.

"Maybe he'll open up. He's just met us. Give him time."

"Yeah, maybe."

Newt stirs again, mumbling out a small "how long left?" without opening his eyes.

"Few hours bud, not too long," Billy tells him, before Newt nods and stretches out, falling back into a deep slumber.

“You do realise we’re probably gonna need back up? Get the good guys on our side,” Stephen says, then, coming to a red light. “We’re gonna need all the help we can get if that Thomas kid is planning on taking down WCKD.”

“Don’t worry,” Billy grins, pulling out his phone. “I know exactly who we call.”

  
16.08.18  
friday.  
2:53pm

"Is she almost done?"

"Quit whining, it's almost out."

Thomas rubs the back of his neck after the harsh sting takes place. There’s snippets of blood, but it’s not too bad and the tissue Teresa gives him cleans it up easily.

The WCKD woman removes the rubber gloves that had been given to her with a snap, folding them and tucking them back into the pocket of her white lab coat. “Well? I’ve finished. I think it’s fair for you to let me leave, now.”

“Not a chance,” Jorge barks a humourless laugh, waving the radio that had been in her other pocket with a sneer. “You tried to fool us once, don’t think you can again, _hermano_.”

Thomas folds his arms, glaring at her. All of their chips have been safely removed, all though it took an hour at most to convince her, without a threat, she gave in. They always do, these days.

They’ve checked her for anything else, but there’s no way she has contact with WCKD. She’s stuck here, and they can use her as a very good advantage. “Who are you? How did you find us?” Thomas speaks up then, giving her a stern look. “How many more of you are out there? Who else was with you?”

Harriet holds the gun as a warning, before she nudges her with it to open her mouth. “My name is Doctor StoneWell,” she says, with gritted teeth. “I was sent here alone to investigate any signs of WCKD property. Looks like I found exactly what they wanted.”

“Watch it.” Minho snaps, from where he stands tall beside Thomas. “You’re a monster. You realise that, right?”

Dr. StoneWall huffs out a low laugh. It doesn’t suit her small lips or squinty eyes. “I’m not a monster, kid. I’m a scientist. You, of course, think the worst of me because that’s what you have been brought up to believe. I work to save the generations of soulmates. Consequences must be brought to those who aren’t willing to obey our rules.”

“Oh get lost with your shitty ‘rules’” Minho fires back, starting to get riled up. Harriet has her tied to the chair, unable to move as Minho walks toward her. “You think you’re smart? You think you’re special? Saving the world? Doing us all a favour? I’ll tell you a secret, will I? Open those little ugly eyes of yours. You’re _nothing_. You’re a disgusting, vile, _creature_ who destroys lives to get what you want. Killing teenagers because they won’t obey you, for what? To call yourself a _scientist?_ Fuck off.”

Thomas leans forward to latch onto Minho’s elbow. “Relax,” he hisses into his ear, pulling him backwards. “No use getting mad now. It’s what she wants.”

“I don’t give a _FUCK_ about what she wants!” Minho yells, ripping away from Thomas’ grasp. “This _bitch_ is working for an organisation that killed my sister and has the fucking _audacity_ to sit here as if life is a fuckin’ walk in the park? No. I don’t _fucking_ think so.”

Just as Minho is about to lunge, a piercing sound of sirens ring through the air. Jorge immediately jumps from his seat, running out of the room so fast Thomas blinks and he’s gone. Brenda follows almost straight after, calling after him in alarm.

Minho gives Dr StoneWall one last menacing glare, before he signals to Teresa and Thomas, and the three of them flee from the room, leaving Sonya and Harriet to keep watch on their captive.

Outside, there’s a flock of people shrieking in terror, running every kind of direction, clearly looking for cover. Thomas’ eyes widen when he spots the WCKD vans, pulling into their safe space. The alarms are clearly coming from their side, designed to alert everyone of danger.

Thomas freezes in his spot, and he hates himself.

 _They’ve found us. They’ve found me. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK_.

Minho latches onto Thomas’ arm, and starts to drag him towards one of the huts, before a loud voice and a bang quiets the riot altogether.

As everyone is silenced by the gunshot, they all look over, watching as the WCKD workers climb out of their vans, slamming the doors to emphasise their arrival.

“No need to be alarmed,” the gun holder calls, voice deep and husky. He seems young enough, with a sharp jawline and long nose. He too, is dressed in a familiar white lab coat. “We’re here to help.”

“BULLSHIT!”

“You’re going to kill us!”

“You can’t expect us to trust you!”

“EVERYONE RUN!”

As the riot stars up again, Thomas feels Teresa’s hand slip into his, her own eyes full of fear. Minho has his arm locked with Thomas’, and the three of them watch silently as Jorge walks towards, hands held high in surrender.

“Drop the gun,” he orders, and the man does, almost instantly. “We’re the good guys. Hard to believe, but a friend of mine as alerted me to come here. I’m looking for someone called Thomas?”

There’s a sound of coughing and feet shuffling as everyone turns their gaze to Thomas, who gently leaves the grasp of his best friends to step forward, heart thumping loudly in his chest. Everyone’s eyes are on him as he falls into place next to Jorge, swallowing thickly.

“That’s me, sir.”

The rest of the WCKD workers, although there only seem to be around five, move to stand in line with the seemingly ringleader, watching Thomas cautiously. “Hello, Thomas. I’m Henry Dervan. I’m here to help you.”

It’s deathly silent as Thomas watches the man with a suspicious look on his face. What the fuck is going on? How did they know where to find him? How —

 _Newt_.

“Who sent you here?” Jorge asks, but there isn’t a hint of friendliness in his tone. “How did you find us?”

Henry let’s out a small sigh, and Thomas doesn’t know what it is that makes him seem so genuine, but he’s starting to believe these people won’t hurt them after all. Maybe they are the good ones.

“A friend of mine called me about an hour ago,” Henry explains, addressing the crowd. “He told me to come here, that you’re planning on taking down WCKD. Mentioned something about soulmates reuniting. Is that the case?”

“Thomas,” Jorge says, in a warning, dark tone that he hasn’t used before. “Who did you yell about our plan?”

“I told...I — I told Newt. But how...I’m so confused!” Thomas blurts, pulling at his hair. Nothing is making sense. How did these guys know? What the _fuck_ is happening?

Just as Henry opens his mouth to reply, a loud beeping causes all the WCKD workers to turn their heads around, watching as a small green minivan pulls in, parking abnormally among the sandy pathway.

“Well, kid,” Henry quips, with a small smirk. “I think all the answers to your questions are right here.”

Teresa and Minho jog towards Thomas, joined by Brenda, who takes her place next to Jorge. The five of them stand still with wide eyes as two men exit the car, dressed almost exactly the same as the others in front of them.

Henry let’s out a happy laugh. “How are things, Billy?”

The two men chuckle in return, the older looking one with greyish hair giving a wave in greeting. They turn around as the backseat door opens, catching just about everyone’s attention.

“Well Newt,” the dark haired one calls, making Thomas’ stomach twist in tight knots. “Is this the right place?”

Thomas takes a step forward, mouth agape with shock. “Wait, hold on a sec — _Newt_?”

It’s then that a small, blonde, scrawny boy comes into view, slowly closing the door behind him. His hair is messy from what one would guess from sleep, and his shoelaces aren’t tied and he’s got a jumper on him that’s too big —

He looks _breathtaking_.

With big brown eager eyes and a button nose, a small structure and adorable face, Newt is almost nothing how Thomas imagined him. But God, he’s _perfect_ , standing shyly with golden, fluffy hair, and shuffling his feet.

“N-Newt?” Thomas whispers, stepping forward. They lock eyes, and neither of them can move. They stare at each other, mouths identically open with pure shock, the hint of smiles on both their faces.

_Hug me, you idiot._

Thomas is about to say something, because the silence of everyone is getting on his nerves, when the angel in front of him gives him a sheepish smile and swallows, opening his mouth. His voice is small and nervous, yet somehow still just what Thomas imagined. It’s perfect.

“Um, are you going to stand there all day or come give me a bloody hug?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IM AN ASSHOLE FOR LEAVING IT THIS LONG BUT THIS IS LITERALLY TWICE THE SIZE OF AN AVERAGE CHAPTER SJSJS
> 
> im also an asshole for leaving it at a cliffhanger but hehe
> 
> ANYWAYS i went really really far with newts behaviour due to trauma this chapter and i promise he’s going to get better and get the help he needs  
> i also hope i cleared some stuff up with the way he acts and stuff because i was worried not a lot of y’all would understand why he acts the way he does but ANYWAYS
> 
> this is super long jesus christ (900k words) lolol have fun reading x
> 
> in all seriousness, thank you SO so so much for the comments and likes and all that it makes my day and i don’t know if i can say how much i appreciate it enough. but really, i do. it means millions, and it makes me more motivated to write ;)
> 
> school is coming back and obviously that means i won’t be able to update as often but i promise i will do as much as i can, because y’all deserve it for being bomb af and patient with me. i love y’all.
> 
> my twitter got locked so follow my new one (sangstobrien) for an au with newt being a servant and thomas being the prince ;)))
> 
> once again, i love y’all for sticking with me. i really do.
> 
> take it easy, i’ll see ya next chapter ;)
> 
> \- bee


	12. xii

16.05.18  
friday.  
3:32pm

Newt feels small.

That's the first thing that Thomas realises once he manages to unfreeze himself. One step, two step, three step and a beautiful boy is wrapped in his arms. Newt literally melts in his grasp and if there's a damp patch on his shoulder, Thomas doesn't say so.

There's another moment of silence before a chorus of slow clapping picks up among the crowd, turning into ear piercing cheers and wolf whistles. It's cliché, but it's kind of perfect, too. If it were some scene from a romance movie Thomas would piss himself at the cringe of it - but this isn't - this isn't like that. It's kind of amazing.

In a momentary, bittersweet way.

He can hear Minho and Teresa cheering obnoxiously louder than everyone else, voices soaring high above the flock of people. It makes him smirk against Newts hair, from where his cheek is resting against the fluffy head. He expects it to be a little awkward, but it feels just right.

Tuning them out, Thomas focuses on the sweet smelling scent below him. Newts small arms are so tight wounded around his neck, Thomas is pretty sure he's lifting him a few centimeters off the ground. Rubbing his back in what he hopes as soothing circles, he hugs him almost impossibly closer.

"Hey," he whispers, right into Newts ear, wild hair tickling his chin. It's so blissful, whatever way Thomas imagined their reunion to be, it has _nothing_ on this. No matter what he pictured it to be like, none of those scenarios could ever come close to being as perfect as this one.

He feels Newt's face mushed into his neck, his small fingers rubbing the hairs on the back of his head absentmindedly. It's nice, in a way Thomas has never really felt before. Not a single moment in his life as he ever felt this ridiculously complete.

There's been a puzzle piece missing in his life, an empty space that he could never figure out how to fix. It's only now that he realises that there really was just a single piece, a small little dent in his heart that he had no idea even existed.

And it was Newt. All along.

"Hi." Newt whispers back, and fuck, he even _sounds_ so wonderful, Thomas squeezes him harder. It gets to a point where they both need to pull back to breathe, and they stand with their arms holding onto each other, smiling like idiots.

Thomas takes that moment to really look at him, and _God_ , does he love what he sees.

Newt is small. It was, in fact, the first thing Thomas noticed, but it's endearing in a way he can't describe. He's half a head shorter, but his face is glowing, with big brown eyes — Jesus, those eyes, and this button nose that Thomas kinda wants to pinch. He, because he can't hold that freakishly weird urge back, pokes it instead, earning a small giggle from him.

 _Pure_.

Newts crying, but there's a big smile on his face that makes him look younger, and Thomas feels that sense of protectiveness wash over him all over again. No wonder he'd felt it from the beginning. All he has to do is _look_ at this kid to want to wrap him up in a blanket, hiding him from the world and it's dangers.

Newt lets out this small hiccup, trying to control his sudden sobs. Thomas, for some reason, feels himself crumble a little bit, let down his guard, pulling him in once again. Holding the back of his head, Thomas murmurs whatever kind words he can come up with.

"I'm here, you're here. It's okay, you're safe, shh...shh..."

Newt mumbles something back Thomas can't make out, but he places a feathery kiss on his head and hopes that it's enough.

Another few minutes pass of them just holding each other, silently, before the two men Newt came with clear their throats. Thomas wants to hit them. How dare they ruin their peace?

"Hate to ah, ruin the moment," the older one says, as kindly as possible, with a soft looking face and friendly smile. He takes a few steps to place a hand on Newts back, gently. "But, kids had a long day. A long few days, I might add. I think he needs a bit of a good rest to recharge, and we can figure out this plan of yours. Sound good?"

"S'okay Bill," Newt mumbles, weakly trying to protest, and Thomas tries not to get overprotective, rubbing up and down his arms. He's not sure who he should listen to.

Thomas doesn't know if he should curse this man for trying to steal Newt away from him so soon, but when the blonde pulls back again, Thomas retreats. Newt's eyelids seem heavy with exhaustion, voice groggy and sleepy. He's still smiling, but he's swaying a little bit and he looks in need of a good nights sleep.

"Okay," he murmurs instead, taking Newt's hand, almost cautiously. Newt, however, takes it happily enough and doesn't object as Thomas leads him away, giving Teresa and Minho a quick happy wink as he walks by their childish kissy faces.

They walk for a while, gentle breeze healing the silence. Newt seems a little dazed, eyes glazed over and glassy in a way that proves his lack of sleep. Thomas squeezes his hand.

Everyone else bursts into conversation just as Thomas pushes through flaps of a small, empty hut, occupied by two single beds and a nightstand. It's cosy enough, and he hopes it's warm enough. The second he's sat Newt on the bed, he's got arms tangled around him.

Newt clearly doesn't want to be left alone (not that Thomas was planning on leaving him, that would just be cruel) so he clings a bit. Thomas is kind of relieved in a way, that Newt turned out to be like this. He hopes that Newt likes what he sees too, because fuck, he is _gorgeous_.

Thomas lays them down, slowly placing Newts head on the pillow. He stays sitting up, Newts head pressed into his the side of thigh. His small hands reach up to fist into the front of Thomas' shirt. Thomas let's out a chuckle, his back against the pillows as he threads his fingers through Newt's golden locks carefully.

"I cant believe you're real," Newt whispers, dark eyes round with this look that makes Thomas realise how intimate this moment is. He lets Newt fiddle mindlessly with his shirt, sneakily snuggling closer. His head is almost on his thigh. It's sweet. _He's_ , sweet, and Thomas leans down to place another kiss on the crown of his head.

"I'm real," he tells him, voice soft and husky. He's never really been this devoted with someone before. It's the first time he's been so close with a person, opening up entirely to hold this absolute angel in his arms. It's almost relieving. He's so glad his heart hurts.

Thomas has always been one that likes to show affection, hugging his friends, big on cuddling. He doesn't think it's weird, he thinks it's a necessity to show your friends how much you love them. Not just to tell them - where's the meaning in that?

Maybe some people don't like to show affection, and maybe that's okay, but for Thomas, he loves throwing around hugs and snuggles and kisses - platonic, usually, but now with Newt, they might be a completely different meaning.

If Newt wants that, of course.

Said boys eyes are still watery, and he sniffles a little, smushing his face into Thomas' leg. Thomas murmurs sweet nothings into his ear, rubbing his sides. It's unexpected, and a little odd, to become this close already. But he can't imagine doing it any other way, and Newt seems so vulnerable and _needy_ , how can he possibly turn him away?

"I've been waiting so long," Newt whispers again, words echoing into the silent air. Thomas continues to rub small circles on Newt's hip, pressing yet, another kiss on his head.

"I know you have," he whispers back, trying to soothe him as the blondes eyes drift closed. "I'm here now, and you can sleep. I'm not going anywhere ... that's it ..."

It's five minutes before the room fills with Newts mumbles and soft snores. Thomas listens with a content smile, as Newt's breathing fills the sleepy silence of the room. His lips are parted slightly, with worry lines etched into his forehead. There's an unhappy frown at his lips, and he seems to be uncomfortable.

Thomas gently runs his finger between Newts brows, hoping to soothe the distraught crease. He seems unhappy, even though he was pretty much ecstatic only moments ago.

He must be dreaming, then. Nightmares, probably.

That makes Thomas kinda sad, so he nuzzles Newt's hair with his face and breathes in his scent. It's not really that great, but not unpleasant either. It's a weird kind of smell, but Thomas knows that Newt has been through hell and back these past few days, so of course the poor kid wasn't going to have time for a shower.

He has no idea what Newt has been through. He has no idea what he's seen. He's no clue on Newts home life to anything really. All he knows is that something definitely must have been going on in his life. Newt isn't - _can't_ be okay.

But someday, he will be.

  
Closing his eyes, Thomas continues to rub Newt's cheeks, pressing kiss after kiss on his hair.

This, he likes.

No, this, he _loves_.

16.05.18  
friday.  
6:54pm

"Ferdinand? That's his name?"

Back in the hut, Brenda, Jorge, Minho, Teresa, Billy, Stephen and the rest of the WCKD workers have gathered around the table that seems to be only in use for some sort of plotting schemes. In each of their hands they hold pens, taking notes for their takedown in WCKD.

Answering Stephen's question, Minho chews the tip of his pen, trying not to get frustrated.  
"Yeah," he swallows thickly, anger slowly rising in him. "They captured him and now they're doing God knows what to him - we need to find him. Fast."

"Which WCKD facility is he in? Do you think?" Billy pipes up, earning somewhat of a scoff from the Asian.

"Fuck if I know," he snarls, all snarky. Teresa kicks his shins as a warning and he tries not to glare.

"Probably the main one in New Jersey," Teresa says, instead. She flips around a map in her hand that shows every WCKD building in the United States. Pointing to a red dot in the center, she sighs.

"Yeah, it'd have to be there. Ferdinand's soulmate store was in Wildwood. Which is in New Jersey. So, I guess that's where we're headed."

  
"Thing is," Brenda jumps up, leaning over Stephen to examine the map for herself. "There's thousands of WCKD facilities across the globe. So, we destroy their primary source - the New Jersey building. Then what? Surely they can just rebound and reboot the entire organisation?"

"Not exactly," one of Bill's and Stephen's WCKD friends cuts in, a mischievous glaze in his eyes. "Since the building in New Jersey was the first and strongest building, it provides pretty much everything to function the rest. They send out packages to every facility. Every single one across the globe. We shut down New Jersey and we shut down _everything_."

Minho takes all this in with a skeptical look on his face. "Problem," he counters, determined to sort out every issue there is, "I'm pretty sure just about everybody is on the lookout for us back home. There's literally no way we can get in there without getting caught straight off the bat."

Everyone stills in an uncomfortable silence. Lips are chewed, nails are bitten, cheeks are gnawed on. It's an awkward moment before Jorge rolls his eyes and announces his ideas once again.

"You - " he begins, pointing to Minho with a disapproving frown, "are too negative. Stop focusing on what can go _wrong_ , and start thinking on what can go _right_. I understand that yes - of course you want to make sure everything is safe and secure and whatnot - but we can figure it all out. There are underground tunnels, back entrances, secret mines. I promise you, _hermano_ , we can get you into WCKD with no problem."

Minho tries to still his rapid heart, pursing his lips with a faint smile. He gives everyone in the room a once-over, before shaking his head with a grin. "Right, right," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "My bad. I'll think brighter from now on."

"'Atta boy," Brenda calls, giving him a wink.  
Minho, still grinning, lets out a whoop and soon the room is filled with a terrific response of good natured cheers and applause. They're going to take down WCKD, and release those captured inside. They can do it.

Teresa suddenly nudges Brenda with a warning expression, and the two of them turn to face the doors. The room dies down as Teresa shushes them, and suddenly, there's a loud crash outside and screams corrupt the safe land.

In alarm, Teresa and Brenda flee the room, the rest of its occupants hot on their tails. Minho, Billy and Stephen catch up to them outside, and all three of their guts twist when they see what's waiting for them.

WCKD workers (not many, thank God) are surrounding the surface, right up against the forest to block any escape routes.  
What looks like a couple, accompanied by a few WCKD men, standing just in front of Brenda and Teresa, cough loudly as the shouting dies down.

The couple takes a step forward. They look evil and cruel, with snarls corrupting their features and ugly smiles lingering on their lips. They address the crowd with confidence and a snarky demeanour.

"Don't suppose Newt is anywhere here, is he?" The man says, with a wicked grin.

Minho's blood turns cold, as Billy and Stephen glance at each other in fear.

There's a parallel line dividing the couple and the WCKD workers on their side, then Minho, Teresa, Brenda, Jorge, Billy, Stephen, the WCKD workers on _their_ side, and the rest of the safe havens survivors. The two forces stand in front of another, both strong and unwilling to be defeated.

"Who?" Brenda fires back, a confused look on her face that seems realistic enough not to look forced. Minho feels his stomach twist in pride.

The man, however, laughs at her. "Don't play dumb with me," he growls, throwing an object at her that looks terrifyingly like a tracker machine. "We know he's here."

Minho side steps over to Brenda and Teresa, who's faces have both paled, and swallows thickly at the sight before him.

_Newt  
Subject A5_

There's a red dot on the squiggly lines on the screen, and Minho closes his eyes as he realises that it leads to here.

 _Fuck_. Newts trackers.

For some selfish reason, he wants to cry. This can't possibly be fair. Who are they? What do they want? Where did the other WCKD guys come from? What the _fuck_?

"Thomas," Minho murmurs, as Jorge appears beside them. "We need Thomas,"

Just as quietly, with a straight face to appear as if she isn't talking at all, Teresa grits her teeth. "He's with Newt."

 _Shit_.

The couple start to get impatient at the silent response, and soon, the man pulls out a gun, sending the crowd into a riot.

"Whoa! Whoa whoa-"

Minho whips his head around just to see the last people they need - Newt and Thomas.

_No! Thomas - Newt, shit - RUN._

Minho tries to signal to Thomas to **_fucking_** run with his face, but Thomas doesn't get the message and leads Newt right to the front beside Billy and Stephen.

Newt had seemed in a bit of a daze until then - all sleepy and hair mad with hands at his eyes - before he had the couple. That's when he backs up in a freakishly terrified state, eyes wild. Billy and Stephen immediately stand in front of him, just as Thomas grabs his elbow, murmuring what Minho can only guess is a "What's wrong?"

Brenda and Teresa and Jorge step backwards and half-run half-walk until they're next to Newt and Thomas as well, signalling for them to move.

"You need to get out of here, _hermano's_ ," Jorge orders, though he sounds a little on edge too. "Now!"

Thomas turns to pull Newt away, before there's a gunshot that rings across their ears and everyone ducks in fear. Minho catches Newt turn into Thomas shaking, and he wants to **kill**.

They realise they're blanks as the couple step forward again, eyes on Newt.

"Come on, Newt. Be a good boy and come home," the man says, with an evil, _evil_ grin. The woman seems less vicious, with a more tender face. Pleading, almost.

"We know all about your little plan to take down WCKD," The man says, gesturing to the men behind them. "And we wont hesitate to contact every facility and let them know. Unless, of course, you hand Newt over and we forget this day ever happened."

Minho swallows as the haven is corrupted with silence once again. All the survivors, the WCKD guys on their side, everyone, is silent. Thomas has a firm grip on Newt and from what anyone can see, refuses to let go.

Teresa and Brenda disappear somewhere behind the huts, and Minho just prays that they're planning something. Anything.

Fuck. This isn't fair.

"I-I'm not going anywhere," Newt mumbles out, just about loud enough for them to hear. Thomas pulls him closer, whispering something nobody can hear into his ear. Minho and Jorge make eye contact, not entirely sure of what they're supposed to do.

"See, that's the thing," the man speaks up, eyes narrowing. "You are."

"No," Newt whispers. "Not after everything you did to me."

"What was that?" The man takes, yet, another step forward, the woman in sync beside him. Newt curls into himself, eyes closed as tears begin to stain his cheeks. He's terrified of these people - and Minho has no idea why.

"Please," Newt cries out, voice hoarse and weak. "Please, please just leave me alone. _Please_."

He breaks just about everyone's heart then, as he grips his hair and starts to cry. "Please, please please go away, please, please w-with c-cherry or s-somethin' on top. Please, please I'll be good - I-I'll be a good boy just please please _leave me alone_."

Minho wants to cry at the sight of him, and by the looks of it, Thomas does too. Billy and Stephen both take a step forward, almost totally face to face with these monsters. "He's staying here," Billy tells them, voice so stern it shows no room for argument.

"You want that?" The man says, almost laughing. "You want that pathetic, whining, dirty, rotten _whore_ to stay with you? Really?"

Newt cries harder, and Thomas has to fight every single inch of his body to hold back from fighting this guy. Minho feels sick, and Jorge has disappeared as well.

"Seriously?" The man snarls, voice hinting a sense of disbelief. "You really - really want him to stay? Do you know who he is? The things he's done? Huh? How disgusting he is? I bet you don't. I bet you don't know the things he's said. How he sounds - how much of a _slutty whore_ he really is."

Minho watches with horror as Thomas pushes through Billy and Stephen as he charges for the man, as Newt starts to shriek hysterically. Thomas throws the first punch, as the woman jumps back in alarm and signals for her WCKD men to fight. It's lucky, really. Minho notices how they've got more WCKD workers on their side than the couple, and he hopes, he _really_ fucking hopes it's enough.

Just then, Teresa, Brenda and Jorge appear with what appears to be some sort of file. Brenda flicks through it with a smirk on her face as Teresa pulls out a recording machine, face grim and serious.

Thomas is pulled off the man by Stephen, kicking and yelling and struggling against his grip. _He threw in a good few punches,_ Minho muses to himself. The mans nose is bloody and probably broken, but Thomas' has cracked a few purple eyes too.

"Somebody mailed these to us, today," Brenda starts, once Thomas has stopped yelling and everything has quietened down again. "We didn't know what it was, or what they were for. We know now."

The mans face pales visibly, as the woman's face changes into a look of - relief?

Minho watches with awe as Brenda begins to flick through the file again, flipping it around to show it to the man with the fiercest look Minho has ever seen.

"See all those pictures? All the descriptions? We know. We know everything you've done to Newt, all the other things you've got your warped head stuck in. And that? That recorder? Has everything on it. Proof. Don't even bother asking who sent us them. We're not going to tell you. We also know that these guys behind you don't even work for WCKD - nice try, guys."

The 'WCKD' workers, as Minho suddenly realises have what must be fucking fake uniforms on, all glance at each other with nervous expressions.

Brenda continues. "You try, you try and fail us, and ruin our plans. These? Are going straight to the police. You'll go straight to jail. I don't know how you know about our plans, but the second we find out, it's not gonna be pretty.

"So you better turn the hell around - and you speak of this to anyone? You know what happens next. Don't try this stupid stunt again, you piece of shit."

The woman gives Brenda a nod and a quick wink, as she grabs the mans arm and leads them out of the safe haven, as their men follow, heads low and feet shuffling.

Minho is confused. What the fuck just happened?

Brenda, appearing behind Minho, slaps a hand on his shoulder. "You'd, um, better come with us," she says, gently pushing Minho towards their previous hut. He obeys, but he's a bit skeptical. Who were those people? How did they know about the plan? Why did they pretend to be WCKD workers - and for fucks sake, what did they want with Newt?

Inside the hut, Teresa stands at the head of the table with Thomas, who's holding Newts hand so fiercely it's a miracle his fingers haven't snapped. Brenda leads Minho over to a quiet corner where the two can talk in peace.

"Those were Newts parents," Brenda starts, in a low murmur. "Well, his mum. That's his stepdad, named Richard. He's a dick."

"So I've seen," Minho quips, voice tight with hatred.

"Yeah. So - Newt's mum, Tasha, she uh, she sent us this file today. At least, I think it was her. I don't know how she knows about this place - or how she knew Newt would come here, but this is what she showed us."

Minho sucks in a harsh breath as Brenda suddenly displays all the pictures in the file.

They are _horrific_.

Close ups of angry, purple and black bruises. Cuts and blood pooling down legs. Vicious, red hand marks on a neck. Gashes and sores decorating legs. Minho is appalled.

She watches his face cautiously, before turning the page. Shit, if the last one wasn't bad, this one sure as hell is.

It's a spine, this time. Purpley, greenish wheels coat someone's back, ripe red flesh cut open and thick, dried blood marking it's territory. It looks so painful, Minho actually turns away.

The next picture is a small, beaten body, curled up naked on a bathroom floor. His entire body is littered in open wounds and fresh cuts, spine dotted with bruises.

When Minho looks closer, he realises that it's Newt. All of those pictures - Newt.

"Fuck - _fuck_ ," he mutters, closing the file sharply. "Fuck - does Thomas know about this?"

Brenda nods, swallowing. "I got him alone a few minutes ago. Jesus, Minho. He was _seething_. I'm surprised he hasn't wrecked the place."

Minho looks over to where Thomas and Newt have stopped talking to Teresa, faces close together. They're sitting on an old sofa that is shredded to pieces and worn to the bone - but it's comfortable and Newt is almost on Thomas' lap, at this point. Thomas has protective arms wrapped around him, foreheads almost touching.

"He nearly had a heart attack when he heard these, though."

Brenda pulls out the recorder from earlier, guiding Minho's ear down to press against it as she presses play.

The sounds make the pictures come to life, and Minho feels queasy.

High pitched, desperate screams and wails slip into his ears and slide towards his brain, chaotic shouts and piercing yells. It's Newt. It's Newt screaming for mercy, begging to be let go. Crying out for help. Theres faint thumping sounds in the background, followed by Newts cries of pain. It's so, so hard to listen to. Minho feels his eyes burn with hot tears.

"Fuck," he whispers again, once the recording is finished. "Fuck, fuck oh my god. Fuck."

"I know," Brenda murmurs, shaking her head. "Newts been through some shit. I don't know why the sick bastard took pictures of Newt battered and passed out - or even why the fuck he voice recorded the damn ordeal - but Newt needs help. Serious, help."

"Why are you telling me this?" Minho suddenly asks, voice wobbly. "Why should I know?"

"Because Newt _acts_ different," Brenda hisses, careful to make sure nobody else hears. "Only Teresa, me, you, Thomas and those two - Billy and Stephen? Have seen and heard these. It makes sense, right?"

"He seems to act fine," Minho defends, eyes narrowing. What? Newt acts perfectly normal. A little shy and clingy, maybe, but that's, that's to be expected. Right?

"No," Brenda says, bluntly. "He - shit, Minho. Did you not hear the way he talks? How scared he got? He's like a little kid. He's got this fucking toy as well - this blanket thing that he will not let go of. Look at him - it's in his pocket."

Minho does so, craning his head to look at the pair again. Newt has his legs draped over Thomas' thigh, head tucked into his neck. Then, as Brenda said, in his pocket, holds the corners of a red and blue blanket.

 _Shit_.

"This explains it, okay? If this abuse, or whatever the fuck that monster did, lasted for a long time, it must have really affected him growing up. It's common, if I'm honest. Development issues and lack of social shit or whatever is normal. So whatever way he is, or how his brain works, isn't like, unusual. For his case, anyway."

"You make it sound like he's some sort of idiot that doesn't know how to act," Minho snaps, suddenly, glaring at her. "Stop treating him like he's stupid. He's not stupid. Yeah, okay, he's been hurt. So what? He'll learn. He's not there anymore. He's probably traumatised, for fucks sake. Leave him be, Brenda. He's got Thomas and the rest of us now. Treat him like a person, Christ."

With that, Minho shoves past her, ignoring her calls for him.

He's tired of this. Newt will be fine.

All of them will.

16.05.18  
friday.  
10:34pm

  
Thomas is furious.

He can't believe - fuck - he can't _believe_ what Newt has been through. On the fucking _daily_ \- he went through that? He's suffered all of that? For his entire life?

Jesus Christ.

Right now, it's quiet. They've discussed their plans, too tired to go over whatever the hell even happened today. Why Richard and Tasha came looking for him - why it was set up. Why Tasha sent the recordings and the file. It's too much and they're too tired, so everyone agreed to talk about it in the morning.

They're lying side by side, Newt and Thomas. Thomas watches with awe in his eyes as Newts nose wrinkles a little in his sleep, breaths even and expression soft and peaceful. He's beautiful. He really, _really_ is.

He's incredibly pretty. Pretty would be a better word to use, over handsome, for Newt. He's got these gorgeous, dark brown eyes that are so curious yet mysterious at the same time. Pink, soft lips that are chewed on too much, delicate cheeks and wild hair that makes his appearance all the more angelic.

They've got a big day tomorrow. Thomas has no idea what Richard has planned, or what the hell that shitshow was today, but Tasha, at least, seemed to be on their side. How she knew Newt would be here or why she sent them the evidence, Thomas doesn't know. He doesn’t know what Richard has done specifically, how badly he’s hurt him. But they've got time. It's okay. He'll figure it out.

He always does.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the fuckitty fuckitty fuck fuck oh my goodness gracious god jesus christ i'm so fucking sorry it's been months where have i BEEN i cant -
> 
> if you're still here i love love love love you and to new readers i love you too
> 
> thank you all so much for sticking with me, i'm so fucking sorry man school is literally taking over my life. i've got a huge year ahead of me and horse riding has also taken over hehe
> 
> i love you all MILLIONS and the likes and comments are just fucking brilliant thank you so much i actually can't express -
> 
> i'm sorry this chapter is a little on the short side but i promise i'll do my best to update as soon as i can. it won't be months but it will take me quite some time so please bare with me (like you already have ;))
> 
> i love you all. thank you.
> 
> \- bee


	13. xiii.

17.05.18  
saturday  
8:34am

Thomas grumbles loudly as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

He's in the headquarters of the safe place, where there's a kitchen and a small seating area. It's more modern than the huts, and he blocks out the loud chatter of everybody else as the meeting begins.

They're talking about WCKD. Newt. Soulmates. History. They're talking about destroying the government. They're talking about what went down yesterday. Thomas is too busy trying to focus on getting his shit together to notice.

Minho had voiced his opinion on Brenda's concern for Newt - after telling Thomas what she'd said to him. Thomas, quite frankly, has no problems telling her to get lost and mind her own business, but he feels sick at how she's _infuriatingly_ right.

Newt does act different. He's quiet and shy and jumpy and like she'd said — he shows subtle, but there traits of childishness. It's not bad —but he's already displayed what Thomas guesses as a lack of understanding towards the real world, or any sort of affection.

Newt has been damaged not only physically, but emotionally, too. His heart is hurting and his bones are fragile, with sinister strings suffocating his soul in a cruel game that attempts to destroy his chances of happiness.

Thomas has no idea how they're going to cope, really. This kind of stuff takes time, and he knows already he's going to need a lot of patience, with Newt.

It's not terrible. Newt cries and fights and gasps awake — he squirms and fidgets and always seems to be in his own world. He always has this glazed over, faraway look in his eyes and he's always staring into space, with a unnerving lack of awareness to where he is.

But he's also sweet and eager to please, with desperate attempts of doing things right. He's always doing everything he can and he tries hard. He's keen on Thomas and he's kind, generous. He tries to help everybody else, and it's sad, how he can't realise the only one that really needs a little guidance is him.

He's got a big smile and shining eyes that know too much. Eyes that lock way the brilliance hiding beneath the broken. He's in there somewhere. It'll just take some time for him to come back to himself. To be the best he can be.

Newt himself is sleeping, still. He even sleeps like a kid - on his tummy, all curled up with his blankie. In a way, it's endearing, but it's dangerous. Newt can't be so dependant on something like that at sixteen years old — and breaking the bond he has with it is going to be tough.

Minho joins Thomas in the kitchen, then, looking heated and a little angry. He jumps up onto the counter and watches as Thomas stirs the spoon in his coffee around. He's staring endlessly at the wall, deep in thought.

"Any updates on blondie?"

Thomas almost jumps, only noticing Minho's presence now. "What?"

"Newt. He good?"

"Yeah. Well — as good as he can be."

Minho nods, looking away. He drums his fingers on the countertop, before letting out a deep sigh that would put an old persons to shame. "We're starting an army."

"Aw, hell," Thomas muses, almost smirking. "That's to be expected, isn't it? We're trying to take down a whole government, here."

Minho kicks him lightly in the shin. "Shut up, jackass. Jorge sent out a radio signal this morning, y'know — parents, teachers, workers, bakers, builders, sailors. Everyone's been alerted. People know, now."

Thomas quirks a brow in understanding. Minho continues, a little hesitantly. "I - uh - told him to tell the story about my sister. My mom is gonna beat my ass when I get home, that's for sure."

Thomas doesn't know if it's appropriate to laugh, so he just smiles lightly. "Yeah, but it'll be worth it. All of it will. It has to be — we didn't do all this shit for nothing."

"Sure," Minho says, swinging his legs. "We're still trying to figure out what the deal is with Newt's mom — and what the hell she was thinking sending us all that creepy shit. How did she even know he was gonna come here — it's weird, man. Weird."

"What's weird?"

Newt wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and looking like a little kid. He's got his blankie and it's concerning how he isn't ashamed of it, here. But, he smiles sleepily and stretches out his arms towards Thomas, obviously requesting a hug.

Thomas complies without hesitation, tucking Newts head beneath his chin, allowing the younger boys warmth swallow him whole. He rubs Newts back, kissing his head after some time.

Minho makes kissy faces before hopping off the counter, disappearing from the room. Once he's gone, Newt pulls away, looking up at Thomas with a small smile. "What's for breakfast?"

Thomas feels his stomach do some weird flip thing. Surely Newt knows enough, that he's allowed to go ahead and make something for himself?

"Whatever you want, Newt. Toast, cereal, bacon. There's tons of shit."

Newt nods, looking a little dazed again. He always does, and Thomas lets him shut off and escape into in his own world as he takes his coffee and heads towards the work room of the hut.

It's a big enough space, with a large  wooden table, filled with maps and blueprints and sketches done by just about everybody. Minho, Brenda, Jorge, Teresa, Billy, Stephen, Harriet and Sonya are crowded around it, deep in a discussion Thomas listens to, for a bit.

Sonya is rolling her eyes. "We can't just give out our location on a radio, Jorge. That's basically asking to get shot down straight away."

"Did you all forget myself and Stephen preciously worked for WCKD?" Billy buts in, crossing his arms.

"We know the system, inside out. We know the packages that get delivered and the occupants stuck within the walls," he waves his hands for emphasis.

"We know who works for them and who doesn't. We know the experiments performed and the deaths that have happened. We know, and if anyone is able to tell you how to take them down — it's us."

Thomas sips his coffee quietly, mind wandering back to Newt, left alone in the kitchen.

"I think we should go by what Billy and Stephen say," Harriet pipes up, looking determined and prepared as always. "They're right, really. We haven't got a clue of what to expect — they do."

Sonya is quick to agree. "Yeah, I think so too. At least with what they know, we've got a chance."

There's something about Sonya that Thomas can't quite put his finger on. She has traits that seem familiar yet so foreign, to him, and she's got this big smile that looks like something he's seen before.

But he can't tell what it is.

"Messages are flooding in — people wanna help — we need to get them here somehow," Brenda says, after a moment. She catches Thomas' eye, and gives him a knowing look.

He knows it's about Newt and it takes all his strength not to glare at her.

"Maybe not here,' Minho says, quietly. "But to a meeting point. We can join up with them somewhere, instead of risking it by having them all come here. There'd be too many, anyways."

"How do we know Newts dad won't do anything?" Sonya murmurs, setting her eyes on Thomas, too. "He seems like the type to rat us out — and it's weird enough that his mom sent all that stuff here, I still can't figure it out how she knew he was coming."

" _Step_ , dad," Thomas corrects, a little harshly. All eyes turn to him, curiously.

He shrugs. "Does it matter? Besides, Brenda already threatened to use the files against him if he tried anything."

Thomas lets out a long sigh after that, leaning on his elbows as he stares down at his hands.

"I think," he begins, setting his coffee down in the table. "That Minho's right. Whatever way you're contacting the public needs to stay at least _a little_ disguised. You can't tell them all the details and where we are — I still wouldn't trust WCKD's systems and what they can see. I'd say, get everyone to meeting point, tell them our plan, and get to New Jersey and take down those assholes."

There's a short silence after that and Thomas wonders if he's said something smart or incredibly stupid. He sips his coffee, looking away. He doesn't like the stares.

"I'd agree," Brenda starts, and Thomas almost rolls his eyes. "But that's literally solving one problem and causing another. We don't want to give out our location, but what's the use of setting up a 'meeting point' if WCKD can just track that down too?"

There's hums of agreement throughout the room, and Thomas wants to kick himself for getting outsmarted by her, again.

"She's got a point," Minho agrees, then, surprisingly. "But — we do have Henry, Dr, StoneWell, and about 5 other WCKD workers here. Along with Billy and Stephen, they've got to know something we don't that can help out a ton."

Yes. That could work. Can't it?

"Let's go find out,then," Thomas declares, and flees the room.

17.05.18  
saturday  
1:32pm

"Do what you want. I ain't talkin."

Thomas groans inwardly, Minho curses, Teresa sighs and Harriet hisses.

"Speak. Now," she orders, clutching the silver shining gun with almost-trembling hands.

Dr. StoneWell laughs. Cruelly. "Go ahead. Shoot me. Right between the eyes — there ain't nothin' you can do to get what you want."

Her voice doesn't wobble, waver once. Thomas sucks in a breath, attempting to think of something to get her to open her mouth. Everyone has a weakness. Time to crack hers.

Harriet has less patience. "Listen lady, I will blow this bullet right through your goddamn skull in two sec— "

"Harriet!" Sonya yells, entering the room. She's got something in her hands. A purse. Brown, leather. It's ugly, and Thomas scowls.

"It's hers," Sonya says, softly, gesturing towards Dr. StoneWell. Harriet smirks.

"Gimme that."

Thomas watches curiously as Harriet flips mindlessly through the purse, picking out all sorts of cards and flicking them across the room, merciless. She's not looking for cash.

Then, her eyes light up. "You got kids?"

Dr. StoneWell almost chokes. "Put that down, you stupid kid. You don't know nothin' about me."

Harriet almost laughs. "You do, don't you? These two. They're yours, huh? Wondering where you are, d'ya think? 'Where's Mommy?' they're probably asking — 'when will mommy come home?' I wonder, if they know she won't?"

Harriet shifts the picture between her fingers, a dangerous smile lacing her lips. Dr. StoneWell flushes, eyes narrowed with hatred.

"All you gotta do is talk — or you'll never see these guys again — or, more so, _they'll_ never see _you_."

Thomas swallows. That's cruel.

Dr. StoneWell shuts her eyes. She grits her teeth. "What do you want to know?"

Harriet smirks.

17.05.18  
saturday  
3:41pm

Newt wanders mindlessly across the haven.

He's showered, changed, fed, refreshed. It's paradise here, and it's a pity he doesn't get to stay longer. He'd like to. With Thomas. But maybe it's just _Thomas_  that's paradise.

Newt sits on the sand, back leaning against a log. He fiddles with his fingers. Richard and his mum rattled him bad — he's on the edge of his seat, wondering when they'll come to take him away. Not mum. She — she knows something.  
It's Richard he's worried about.

He'll come and take him away and rip away whatever pride he's built, destroy the newfound love he's created. It's not fair. Richard will always — _always_ be there.

He sniffs. Those files, Sonya found. They know. They all know, that Richard hurt him. Some parts of him don't care, other parts find it mortifying. He's weak. They know that now. Everyone. Newt wants the ground to swallow him. Thomas _knows_.

He rubs at his arms, biting his lip. He's supposed to be safe here — but how can he be? Richard is lurking every corner of his mind, his mum is delving deeper into a hole in his head, causing more mysteries as the days go by. He's lost and confused and he just wants it all to end.

Deep down, he doesn't think it will.

They'll follow him forever. Mum with the awful pictures, always knowing where he'll go. Richard, with his sly smile and ugly eyes. They'll never leave him alone. He doesn't know how to feel about it.

He's angry. A small piece of him. He didn't do anything — he's just trying to breathe, damn it. The second he escapes and finds people who care about him, his childhood is creeping up behind him and has him locked up in chains.

Nobodies willing to give the key.

Footsteps approach behind him.

"Hi, Newt!"

It's Minho. He steps over the log and sits gently. He doesn't speak, for a moment. Newt doesn't greet him back, eyes glazed over and staring into space. He's thinking hard.

"We were wondering where you got off to," Minho says, breaking the tension.

Newt frowns, then. "Can I . . . tell you something?"

Minho nods. "Course."

"It's just . . . I don't know what — what to do Minho — I - I'm confused."

Minho tilts his head. "Over what?"

Newt makes a grumpy sound, low in his throat. "I don't know. Everything's weird. I'm all fuzzy all the time."

Minho doesn't know what the hell that's supposed to mean, but he makes a guess and lets Newt finish.

"I can't — I can't get stuff right. Sometimes I forget where I am and sometimes — sometimes I don't really want to be here because I'm scared. Of everything."

"You want to be somewhere else?"

"No — I don't want to be anywhere at all — I don't like it."

Minho finally starts to see what he's saying. He softens his voice. "Why not?"

Newt is waving his hands around, trying to emphasis his little speech. It's a Thomas-like thing to do and Minho notices with a sharp sting in his heart.

"Because — because I can't — I can't get stuff right — it doesn't _work_ and I don't know why — I just, sometimes I feel really dis — disor — "

"Disoriented?" Minho tries, gently. Newt nods, furiously. Minho notices with a twist in his gut how clenched Newts fists are.

"It's all weird. Sometimes I can only remember things from — from before. And I don't like it — I just want to to _go_ _away_."

He finishes in a whisper, lips wobbling dangerously. It hits Minho then just how emotionally fucked up Newt is. It's scary, how disconnected he is, from the world. He's so lost. No wonder Thomas wants to hold him all the time. He's barely keeping it together.

"Hey, listen to me for a sec, will ya?" Minho says, and Newt nods, finally looking at him.

"Look, I don't know how it feels. I won't ever will. I — shit, man. I don't know what you went through. I have a pretty clear guess, but, you just — you just need to know you're _safe_."

Newt's eyes widen. Minho continues.

"Nobodies gonna hurt you here, you've got Thomas, me — Billy, Stephen. It's okay to feel lost, or fuzzy. You're allowed to. You're starting to grow up now and it's okay to take your time."

Minho doesn't know if that helped jack shit, but Newt listens anyways, looking all the world like a little kid, and his heart hurts, a bit.

God, no wonder everyone wants to protect him, shield him from what he already knows. He's already seen how horrible the world is — but Newts innocence is haunting.

"Don't rush yourself," Minho whispers, placing a hand on the back of Newts neck. "Nobodies expecting anything out of you. You've got time, kid."

And finally, Newt smiles.

17.05.18  
saturday  
4:14pm

"We got her to crack."

Thomas grins widely, as Jorge enters the room. He'd been away all day, gathering supplies and whatnot. Harriet is pretty pleased to tell about the early afternoons events. They've got it, somehow. Not much, but enough.

"What'd she spill?"

Thomas unfolds the notes he took down, smug. He clears his throat just to be dramatic, and waits for complete silence.

"We've got codes, lockdown times, guard numbers, schedules, passwords, addresses, names, uh, blueprints...."

Teresa smiles. She glances at Jorge, who has his brows raised, impressed. She crosses her arms, smirking despite herself. She's proud of Thomas — finally, he's got the ball rolling.

"All this — this _stuff_ ," Thomas emphasises, slamming down the list on the counter. "All this stuff and we have no idea what to do with it."

His voice falters halfway through, and Teresa thinks for a moment that come to some bad realisation. That he messed up. But then, he smirks, rolls his eyes, and she breathes easier.

"Still. We know when to get in, how to get in, and where to get in. We've got a load of numbers and places that we don't know what mean yet — but at least we can actually get inside. Safely."

Jorge applauses, clapping slow and hard. "Good job, _hermano's_. You've figured a way in — without dying."

Harriet grins, brightly. "Not only that, but she gave us the codes to find all this stuff — the blueprints, addresses and all that. We can find proof — proof that this company is killing all these kids. We can get these fuckers into jail, once and for all."

Thomas jumps in. "We got her to tell us about Minho's sister, too. And recorded it. So there's more to that as well."

Harriet nods, frantically. "Once we get to their side and actually have something that is legitimate proof, we're done. We've got it. Saved the world. Right?"

Jorge nods his head this way and that, taking her words into consideration. "Something like that," he says, finally.

"We need to find out what Tasha knows," Thomas ends up saying, facing Teresa.

"I don't know what the hell happened — but that Richard guy seems real dodgy, to me. They definitely know something. Them and those weird, fake WCKD workers from their little stunt — I don't even know what that was."

"Does anybody?" Thomas snorts, rolling his eyes. That whole thing was just one gigantic mess — but there's something behind it. Definitely.

Jorge hums thoughtfully. "We'll keep watching out, but unless it's essential, leave it alone. Just keep a close eye on Newt, and we can get cracking."

Thomas smiles fondly. Of course he will. They all will.

Newt is safe here, after all.

  
17.05.18  
saturday  
7:06pm

Minho calls Thomas over after dinner.

"Gotta sec, Thomas?"

Thomas was busy frowning at Newts full plate of food, but he'd turned and followed Minho nonetheless.

They stroll outside of the hut, and Thomas shoves his hands in his pockets as they carefully trek across the stoney path.

"I just — you're watching Newt, right?"

Thomas almost laughs. Is that even a question?

He doesn't, but he answers sharply, almost insulted. "Obviously?"

Minho lets out a breath through his nose. "I saw him over behind the logs today. By himself. He was saying some . . . stuff."

Thomas bites his lip. "Like what?"

"Just — " Minho fumbles for a moment, an agitated look shadowing across his face. "He kept saying things like — like he didn't want to be here. Or anywhere. Like — like he doesn't wanna be alive."

Thomas closes his eyes, feeling his throat close over. Jesus.

"Shit," is what comes out first, and he stops walking to sit on the grass, twisting his fingers in it. "Shit Minho — you don't think he'd . . . do anything, right?"

"He won't kill himself, Thomas," Minho says, in an unusually soft tone for him. "Hell, I don't know if he'd have the guts. Or the willpower. He likes _you_ — he won't leave you. You're his second chance pretty much at life now, and deep down, I think he knows that."

Thomas continues to chew his lip. He knows Minho is right, but he only met Newt how many days ago? He doesn't know him. Not yet.

"I just don't want him to lose himself, y'know?" Thomas murmurs, as Minho sits himself down beside him. "He's just so withdrawn from everything — half the time I don't even think he knows what's going on."

Minho sucks in a sharp breath, before letting out a sad, sad sigh. It doesn't sound right coming from him.

"He'll get there," Minho ends up saying, watching the orange-pink sky swallow the sun. "He just needs time. We all do."

Thomas rests his head on his knees. Nothing has started yet. They're still planning, waiting, growing. He didn't think he'd be so tired. Not this tired, at seventeen.

"Newt's a smart kid," Minho smiles, then. "Just trust him, Thomas. Trust us. We'll make it. He'll make it."

Thomas closes his eyes, smiling too. "Yeah," he finally agrees. "He will."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow what the heck  
> i'm so fuckin sorry y'all it's been MONTHS
> 
> school has 100% consumed my life i am so sorry arghhhh
> 
> and this chapter sucks and it's really short but hey it's something and i promise it'll be better next time
> 
> just a quick thing to say i love y'all. all the comments, votes, reads or whatever.
> 
> Thank you. Seriously. It means the absolute world to me. I love you.
> 
> see you next time (and sooner, ;) )
> 
> \- bee


	14. xiv.

21.08.18  
wednesday   
7:23am

It's been a few days and they're almost ready.

At least, they seem to be.

Thomas doesn't really know what he's expecting. Newt isn't really all the way there yet, Minho and Brenda are still nippy at each other, Jorge is riling everyone up and Teresa seems to be God knows where half the time.

Harriet and Sonya are in the back hut, with a few of the Brainy's, trying to link the information they were given by Dr. StoneWell to WCKD. The plan is really starting to come together.

Again, at least it seems to be.

Right now, Thomas is sat outside, ass coated in sand as the waves brush up against the shore. The sun is just rising, and yet everyone is awake. That's how things always seem to be. Always working. There never seems to be a lights out, here.

Newt is beside him. They're not speaking — they're simply watching. Watching the waves capture the escaping seaweed and strangle it back to the deep, deep sea.

They're watching the sun lick at the ocean, ready to venture to the sky and relive another day. It's so fast. Time is going so fast. There isn't much left, and Thomas swallows at what he's started.

He can't believe how things spiraled so quickly — he's here, with Newt, his soulmate, watching the sunrise. They're mentally and physically preparing to take down WCKD, and it's weird. It's so weird. How did he do it?

_Get over yourself. You haven't done anything yet._

Newt shifts beside him. "Pretty, innit?"

Thomas nods, smiling a little. "Yeah. Makes you forget what's really going on."

It's quiet for another moment. Newt fidgets uncomfortably, trying to get out the words lodged in his throat. Thomas doesn't push him. He hasn't really been, lately.

"Am I what you wanted?"

Thomas whips his head around so fast his eyes stumble upon stars. "What?"

"Am — am I what you wanted? For your soulmate?"

Thomas chews on the inside of his cheek. In all honesty, he wasn't expecting this. Sure, he knew Newt needed him, ever since they started the whole loophole game.

But he thought Newt was determined, daring, devilish. And maybe he is, underneath all that fear. But right now, as he's sat in front of him, Thomas has no idea how to answer him.

He wasn't expecting this scared, shell of a boy. He wasn't expecting someone so traumatised into silence. Someone so small, so thin. Someone so obviously abused and emotionally underdeveloped. Someone with such a screwed up background, needing so much and getting so little.

"I — I mean — you weren't what I was expecting, but that's not always a bad thing. Y'know? I don't really know what I thought you'd be."

"Not like this," Newt says, a little sadly. He rests his chin on his knees, having drawn them to his chest. His eyes are large and watery, darting this way and that to avoid Thomas' gaze.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asks, because he wants to hear it from him.

Newt swallows, closing his brown orbs before squeezing.

"I'm not what you wanted, am I?"

Thomas doesn't get a word in before Newt continues. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better. I — I know why."

Thomas has no idea what to say, but that's okay because Newt seems content with carrying on. He stands up, dusting off the sand. Thomas follows him, watching as Newt begins to pace, agitated.

"Listen, Thomas. I — I know I'm fucked, alright? I'm scared all the time and I don't always remember what's going on, but I'm not stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid," Thomas says, perhaps a bit too softly. He wasn't expecting to hear that, for sure.

"Yeah, but everyone else does," Newt mutters, starting to frown. "You don't have to treat me like I'm five. I'm not a baby, and I'm sick of being treated like I'm thick."

Thomas doesn't interfere, he lets Newt say what he needs to say.

"It's like — I can't always get my words out, yeah? And then — and then, I got all these people that are tellin' me to do all this stuff and it's a bit much — but I'm not  _dumb_. You don't need to tiptoe around me like I'll break."

"We're just worried about you, Newt," Thomas says again, carefully.

He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but how can anybody think that Newt is okay after seeing those pictures? Those horrible, horrible pictures?

"Well, quit bein' worried. I'm tired of it," Newt replies, bitterly. It's out of character for him, and Thomas is a little taken aback by all of it.

"Well . . . we have to be, Newt. We —  _I_  — saw the pictures —"

"And so what? That was a long time ago," Newt spits, angrily. It's a big change from the soft, quiet person from a few minutes ago.

Perplexed, Thomas tries again. "Newt . . ."

"No! Don't 'Newt' me! You don't even  _know_  me! All you know is that stupid little fuckup in those pictures that deserves  _nothing_  — and now you think that I need to be protected, or — or looked after or something. Well, I don't. I don't even remember all of that. I deserved it, though. I'm  _bad_ , Thomas. I don't need you to fuckin' take care of me. I'm dirty."

Newt is fumbling with his words and throwing his hands everywhere. His eyes are on fire and his throat is scratchy. Thomas is seriously shocked. Is this what Newt is really like? Angry? Destroyed because of what he was forced to live with? How is that fair?

"Oh, God, Newt," Thomas whispers, because Newts knuckles are white and he's breathing heavily. "You're not  _dirty_  — Christ, you didn't deserve any of that — "

"Yes I did!" Newt cries out, pulling at his hair. "Jesus Thomas — you don't understand! Okay? You have, no  _idea_  how much of a bad,  _bad_  fellow I am! Ugly, dirty, filthy, just a stupid fuckin'  _toy_  —"

And then he starts to scream.

They're far away from the hideout, but Thomas wraps his fingers around Newts wrists to pull them away from his hair. Newt screams louder and starts hitting him, fists clenched tight. His throat is raw and Thomas grabs a hold of him until he can't move.

He squeezes until Newt loses the fight in him, going limp and floppy in his arms, and it's then that he slowly lowers them to the ground. Gently,  _gently_ , he coaxes Newt somewhere on his lap.

He continues to scratch at Thomas' shirt, the tears clotting his eyes and sticking his eyelashes together. He's hysterical, and Thomas holds him and lets him cry.

After some time, Newt is reduced to helpless sobbing, weakly thumping at Thomas' chest. There are occasional soft hiccups, barely but there. He clutches Thomas' shirt, but he drops his head forward onto his shoulder, panting.

Thomas rubs his back and the side of his head, sensing his exhaustion. He's not entirely sure what just happened, but he waits it out.

After a while, Newt lets go of Thomas' shirt, and moves to place his arms around his neck instead, not moving his head. Thomas smiles to himself at that, hugging him tighter.

"It's okay," he whispers into the blonde tufts. "You're okay. I'm here. It's alright."

The sun is rising, the day has yet to begin. Pain still pinches their hearts, but they're almost there. The plan is almost done and adventure awaits.

Newt nods.

21.08.18  
wednesday   
9:43am

"What's the plan?" Teresa says.

They're back around the table, all of them this time. The Brainy's, teenagers, men, women, kids. They're all eager-eyed and determined.

Jorge coughs, then. Clearing his throat, preparing for announcement. The silence he summons is deathly, and Thomas smirks a little, to himself.

"We've got the lockdown code," Jorge tells them, holding up a quick-sketched outline of the WCKD building.  "We know where to put it, and how we works. That's the first step to defaulting the system."

Minho sways his head from where it's being propped up by his elbows. "Then," he chips in, pointing a finger at a marked dot on the map. "We spread out into our groups. Cover everywhere we can get. Everyone will be given the weapons, codes or swipe cards that they'll need."

Thomas has to admit, he's impressed. Who knew that they could do it?

Teresa snatches up a pen, then. As Jorge places the map back on the table, Teresa  circles various spots on it for emphasis.

"Here," she says, tapping the pen on the dot. "Is where the Brainy's will go. It's like a watch tower, with all the controlling systems. We can keep tabs on each other and update consistently. Sound good?"

Thomas wonders, yet again, when on earth his friends became so clever.

Teresa has always been smart beyond her words, and Minho always seems to have his wits about him — but not like this.

This has got to be some sort of overnight transformation. Hell, he's never seen two people adjust to a totally different lifestyle so fast. They're not just some dumb teenagers that broke the law — they're starting a revolution, and it amazes him how quickly things have changed.

He wonders briefly for a moment if the same has happened to him — but he feels the same as before. Still just a lost, clumsy kid with a weird-doodling soulmate, torn apart and real in a world full of make-believe.

It's weird to think that this all started just because Newt drew a dick. It's funny, sure, but terrifying — how things can tumble down so fast and you can't catch your breath.

How normalcy and closure slips through your fingers — how you can't grip control. How you find yourself thrown into a universe where you realise that there's no being a kid anymore. It's time to grow up, now.

And that's scary. It really, really is.

Thomas is pulled back to reality by the sharp noise of applause and cheers — the meeting is over, and everyone is elated and satisfied by the plan. He can only hope that it'll work — there is seriously no room for failure.

"So there we have it, folks," Stephen calls out, looking young and fresh and somehow like a barbecue dad. "In we go, spread out to cover ground, stay communicating at all times, dismantle the system, attract an audience, expose WCKD, shut it down, and bam. Free for all."

Thomas has to laugh. It'd be a miracle if it were so easy.

"Everyone just do their designated task — no shittin' around, keep watch at all times, and here we have a world that isn't fucked. Simple."

"Yeah," Thomas echoes, almost in a daze. "Simple."

21.05.18  
wednesday   
1:01pm

"There's a letter here for you," Brenda says, icily.

Thomas looks up from where he's sorting out himself and Newt's lunch. He's doing fine, considering he hasn't burnt down the kitchen yet.

"Oh?" he says back, just as cold. He turns back to the frying eggs, frowning. A letter? What is this — the middle ages? Who from? Who knows he's here?

Brenda scoffs, tossing the letter onto the countertop. "There's no address on it."

"That's great," Thomas replies, with a hint of sarcasm. He's clearly busy, and she's still tip-toeing on his nerves. He'll read it later.

She mutters something he can't hear and leaves him alone — but his curiosity gets the best of him, as always.

With a sigh, he takes the pan off the hob and licks grease off his fingers. He carefully tears open the letter, frowning at the blank return address. What could it be?

_Thomas,_

_My name is Tasha Mary-Anne Blake. I am Newt's mother, and I feel strongly there are some things you should know._

_Myself and Newt's stepfather are aware of your plans. Richard is a sophisticated, competitive and meddling person — it's difficult for him to lose something he believes belongs to him. I'm sure you're aware of the . . . intimate relationship he had with Newt._

_To tell you the truth, Thomas, I am afraid for his well-being. Richard can't be trusted and I am trying to distract him from the carrot dangling beneath his nose. You must be careful. He has connections — real connections. It won't be WCKD you'll be worrying about getting in the way — it's him._

_I'm good friends with a few of those in your current company. That explains my previous knowledge of Newt's arrival to your hideout. That's why I sent those files. They are important. Do not lose them._

_Richard has his ways. I'm trying my best, but it's you who must keep him safe. Keep your eyes and ears wide open. Always be aware. You'll never know who's watching._

_Stay safe, and please, look after him._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Tasha Blake_

Well  _fuck_.

Thomas squints as he re-reads the letter, over and over again.

It's scary, to be honest. He wasn't expecting something like that, for sure. Tasha. Tasha Blake. Newts mother. What is she doing contacting him? How dangerous is that? Do more people know they're here, now?

Not to mention she'd spoken about her friends — like who? Nobody seemed to recognise her when she came threatening the entire haven. It's a joke, and Thomas feels himself boil as his cheeks burn with inflamed anger.

What 'intimate' relationship? Newt never mentioned anything like that before, and Thomas swallows thickly when he comes to a sickening realisation.

In blinding fury, he crumbles up the letter, spitting on it before tossing it in the trash. Tasha Mary-Anne Blake can fuck right off.

_Intimate relationship. Intimate relationship._

"Oh, God, Newt," Thomas whispers, placing a hand over his face. "What happened to you?"

He can't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it — but there's no other way. It explains everything. Newts abnormal behaviour, his faraway eyes. His distaste at intimacy from strangers. His flinches and bottled trauma. His childlike expressions. Everything makes sense now.

Newt was sexually assaulted by his stepfather.

21.05.18  
wednesday   
4:03pm

Thomas can't think.

He's furious. Not only that — disgusted. At who, he's can't even say the name, but there's no way he can even look, let alone speak, to anyone right now. He doesn't trust the outrageous fire inside of him.

Teresa and Minho are on either side of him, watching him seethe silently. They don't speak, they watch him simply. Thomas can see them making faces at each other, and he wants to scream.

"I can't believe it," he mutters, digging his heel into the sand. "I can't fuckin' believe it."

Teresa approaches it first. "Believe what, Tom?"

Thomas spits at the ground again, clenching his fists. "That he had to go through that."

"Go through what?"

Thomas chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed dangerously. He's raging, to put it gently. His face is turning red at the angered atmosphere and Minho touches his hand, carefully.

"Thomas? What happened?"

"Newt's mom sent me a letter," Thomas hisses, almost growling. "Telling me all about this 'intimate relationship' between Newt and his stepfather. It's fucking sick."

Minho sucks in a sharp breath, and Teresa closes her eyes. Nobody speaks for a moment, and Thomas finds himself getting even more furious at the silent response.

"Like — are you fucking kidding me? I  — what the hell? I can't believe it — what more did he want? First he beats the shit out of Newt, and then this?  _This_?"

"Whoa, whoa, Thomas, slow down," Minho jumps in, eyes widening at the realisation. "Christ, man. What are you talking about?"

Thomas is breathing heavily, and he tries to calm his heart rate. Somewhere in his mind, there's a voice telling him to relax, breathe. His body says otherwise, however.

He feels bile rise in his throat. His stomach twists as he lets his head wander. He can't imagine what Newt had to endure to get here —  and he feels horrendous thinking about it.

Theres a knotted rope tangled in his guts, squeezing and squeezing. Invisible strings seesaw inside him, tugging at his heartstrings. Teasing him. Testing him.

Teresa gently wraps her fingers around his arm, expression softening. "What happened?"

"R-Richard, h-he —" 

Thomas hates how his eyes start to sting. How his hands begin to tremble, how his breaths are shallow. He hates that ugly, suffocating feeling he gets in his throat. He hates how he feels this way just  _thinking_  about it — how the hell did Newt feel, going through all of it?

Teresa purses her lips together and looks away. She knows where this is headed, and she curls in her toes, uncomfortable.

"Fuck," she whispers, mostly under her breath. "Fuck."

"He raped him," Thomas wheezes out, hands over his eyes. "Oh, God, Oh God — Oh  _God_  he  _raped_  him—" 

Minho has a fist over his mouth, refusing to look at either of them. "No," he mumbles, because he feels queasy. " _Fuck_ , no."

Thomas tries to muffle his raspy breathing, digging his thumbs into his eyes. He can't stop thinking about it — Richard's disgusting smirk, Newt crying, screaming in pain —

Minho shakes his shoulder vigorously. "Dude, you're green."

And that's when Thomas throws up.

21.05.18  
wednesday   
6:43pm

"Jorge? Can I talk to you?"

Jorge looks up from where he's humming thoughtfully over a blueprint, and welcomes Thomas over with a homely grin.

"Of course. What do you need?"

Thomas fidgets uncomfortably for a second, twisting his fingers behind his back. He has no idea how to word anything he's trying to say, and approaching the subject is taunting already, to him.

"I — well, I got this letter. Today. From Newt's mom. D-does the name Tasha Blake ring a bell?"

Jorge scratches his chin, frowning at the question. He thinks deeply for a moment, before the crease in his forehead hollows and he shrugs with an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid it doesn't. Is there something wrong?"

Thomas doesn't see the point in getting into detail — he has yet to confront Newt about it, anyways — so he smiles as convincingly as he can and shakes his head.

Jorge is off the list. Who else could she be talking about?

Thomas thanks Jorge anyways, turning to leave with a defeated sigh. It's already beginning to suck, trying to find Tasha's so called 'companions.'

It doesn't make sense to him. Whoever she's friends with must have already known Newt was coming — but that still doesn't make sense.

Newt lived in  _England_  — how did his mom and stepdad find him so fast? How did they  _get_  here, so fast? What the hell is he missing out on?

Newt hadn't even been here a  _day_  before Tasha and Richard showed up — with a whole gang of fake WCKD workers for their stupid little stunt. It's all too weird, too sketchy, and for the love of God, Thomas can't figure out why he can't crack it.

Somehow, Tasha had known Newt was coming here. Somehow, her and Richard got the next flight here — and somehow, she got those files sent to this place, too. It's all strange and confusing and it doesn't add up. There has to be something else — there really does.

He's missing something. Something important — but he can't seem to even try think about what that could be.

Richard, so he knows now, has connections. Does that mean Tasha does too? What about her friends? How did they know Newt was coming? Did they? Did anybody? Oh for fucks sake —

_The tracker. Of course._

Newts tracker. It wasn't removed. It still hasn't been removed.  _Shit_. How did they not think of that?

And then three people pop into his mind — and he knows just  _exactly_  where to go.

✐ ✐ ✐

"Henry, Stephen, Billy. Take a seat," Thomas says, feeling like a fucking idiot.

It's kind that they don't laugh at him, and actually have the decency to take him seriously. Henry sits first, arms folded with a blank yet encouraging expression on his face. Billy and Stephen follow suit, and a corrosive silence fills yet another, empty hut.

Thomas clears his throat, a little nervous. He doesn't even know what he's going to say — how does he get the sentence out from where it's clotted in his throat?

"I was just — just thinking," he starts off, trying desperately to sound like he knows his stuff. "And I noticed that a lot of the things going on here regarding Newt don't really . . . add up, if you get what I mean."

All three men blink at him.

Thomas shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I-I mean, y-y'know, timing stuff . . ."

Blink.

After a deep sigh, Thomas drops the act. "What I'm trying to say is, I've just been paying attention to a lot of the dodgy stuff going on, and I wanted to ask you guys about it."

"Ask away," Stephen shrugs, a faint smile at his lips. "We're all open, kid."

"Great!" Thomas smiles right back, relieved to be an understatement. "Firstly, you two got in touch with Henry, right?"

Billy and Stephen nod simultaneously.

"And Henry, you contacted the other WCKD workers who are against the organisation — correct?"

Another nod.

"So basically — you guys have  _connections_ , yes?"

Billy let's out a deep, huffy laugh, laced with old age. "Get to the point, kiddo."

Thomas smiles sheepishly. "Right, yeah. Sorry."

"I'm just — do any of you know Tasha Blake?"

Henry swallows, turning a crimson colour. "Yes. We were close friends, long ago."

"So you told her to come here?" Thomas accuses, however he keeps his tone civil. He knows Henry is a good guy.

"Not necessarily," Henry says, after a short pause. "She — she sent those files and voice stuff to me, some time ago. She wanted me to send them wherever Newt would end up — in case of Richard jeopardising his safety. I sent them here once Billy and Stephen told me about you and Newt."

"So you're the close companion . .  ." Thomas murmurs, thinking back to the day Tasha and Richard appeared in the haven. It's messy and unorganised and incoherent in his mind — he can't remember most of what went down.

"How did Richard know about our plan?" Thomas suddenly says, the thought springing to his head. There's so many unanswered questions, it's hard to keep track of them all.

"That," Henry says, shaking his head. "I truly don't know. He found out through something, at least, but he will do everything in his power to sabotage your plan — and get Newt back."

"D-Do you know?" Thomas finds himself whispering, hating himself for bringing it up. When he gets a sullen, dark nod from Henry, he closes his eyes.

"Did Tasha tell you?"

Billy and Stephen glance at each other, left out of the loop. However, they don't pry or try to make sense of what they're talking about. They simply sit back and stay quiet, respectfully.

Henry exhales through his nose. "Yes. She did. Many, many months ago."

"You two seemed to have been really good friends," Thomas says, a little sharply, trying not to sound accusing.

To his surprise, Henry lets out a deep, deep sigh. "Yeah," he drawls, looking suddenly exhausted and worn out. "We were, once."

"She told me — she told me everything," he carries on, sounding disturbed. "How — how she could hear them. How she could hear Newt crying — all the sounds. How she couldn't do anything about it and how Richard would threaten to kill her — kill Newt. She was trapped, Thomas. She still is. Thats why she sent all that — that stuff. To make sure that we had something to pin against Richard. To give Newt a second chance at life. That bastard needs to go to jail."

"He needs the electric fucking chair," Thomas grumbles out, because at this point, he's too drained to get worked up. He feels sick again, and he tries to regain his composure.

"She's a shit mother if she didn't go to the cops," he mutters, instead. Billy and Stephen both seem to catch on, because they both look pale and bone-weary. "She was so aware of what her  _husband_  was doing to her  _son_  — and she didn't  _do_  anything. Shit mom, if you ask me."

Henry swallows. "She should have. She really, really should have."

Billy eventually joins back into the conversation. "We — I mean — is there something else? Something more, to those pictures?"

Thomas doesn't think it's his place to tell, and by the looks of it, Henry doesn't either, so they both keep quiet and hope for the best.

"I think you know what it is, Billy," Henry eventually murmurs, softly, and that's that.

"We need to get the trackers out of Newt," Thomas says, steady and firm. "And then we need to keep an eye on Richard. We have no idea what he'll do, or how he'll do it."

With that, he shoves the letter he had picked from the trash into Henry's hand.

"Read this," is all he says, and saunters from the room.

Things are going to be extremely rough, from now on.

He can feel it.

And by the looks of it, they can, too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hello there  
> it's me  
> back  
> i've respawned after yet ANOTHER disappearance. i'm faithfully sorry.  
> but in all seriousness, the WCKD takedown will kick off next chapter, things are getting a little rough around the edges kids.
> 
> thank you to my old and new readers. i'm really hoping you're enjoying his and not bored out of ur mind. that would really suck.
> 
> i love u all. for real.
> 
> thank u. again.
> 
> AND specialist of shoutouts to @tmislazy on twitter for the fanart of not only this fic, but ethereal too!! go check her stuff out, it's pretty damn cool.
> 
> see u next time, kiddos.
> 
> — bee

**Author's Note:**

> HI YALL IM HERE WITH A SOULMATE AU  
> i saw this on tumblr and yall i had to write it i had to do thiS-  
> anyways, this is basically an au (y'all already know but im just explaining) where if your soulmate draws something on their skin, it appears on yours as well.  
> i mean y'all could just write your numbers and names and genders and shit on ya arm and bam you find ur soulmate buT im gonna make it a little more interesting than that (hopefully sjsjsj)  
> i hope you enjoy as this was just a quick intro and the second chapter will be up soon!!  
> \- bee ☘︎


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